


All the Right Hand Men

by axefaire, Vexify (labelleplume)



Series: All the Right Hand Men Collection [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 76,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axefaire/pseuds/axefaire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/labelleplume/pseuds/Vexify
Summary: After the Blue Lions take back Fhirdiad, they're all shaken by the dark magic Cornelia wielded along with the Titanus. Byleth comes up with an audacious plan to gain intel on this new enemy: crest-bearers Felix and Sylvain will need to fake a forbidden relationship and defect to the Empire. They must flee the Kingdom with Ferdinand, a prisoner-of-war, inadvertently reuniting him with Hubert. Conflicting feelings and loyalties threaten the fate of Fódlan. Will they all survive the turmoil that follows?*SPOILERS FOR ALL ROUTES*
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: All the Right Hand Men Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166489
Comments: 45
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [axefaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/axefaire/gifts).



> This fic was initially inspired by Bohemienne's Denial & Deception, which you should all definitely read! https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895731/chapters/49671050
> 
> Beta read by axefaire, thank you so much!

**~Sylvain~**

Sylvain is rarely speechless, but in retrospect, he couldn’t possibly have anticipated how the day would turn out.

It’s the morning of the fourteenth of Red Wolf Moon. The capital is still largely in ruins. The endless rebellions against Cornelia’s armies left parts of the city burned to ash, rubble blocking roads, and houses empty, their residents murdered in the streets. It’s still a shock to Sylvain’s system to see his childhood haunts in such a state of disrepair. In spite of it all, Fhirdiad is buzzing with anticipation. The markets are busier than before, if not bustling. The king is holding a ball, the most thrilling thing to happen here in five years. It’s fitting that after finally being freed from Imperial tyranny, the citizens of Fhirdiad and beyond are coming together to celebrate the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus’ Founding Day. Some grumble that it’s a waste of resources that should be going towards reconstruction. But for the most part, Dimitri’s court recognizes it as the morale booster it is.

Having had nothing to look forward to for so long, the people can hardly be faulted for their excitement. Though, given the grim scowl on the Shield of Faerghus’ face, it’s clear that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing. Sylvain has to suppress a grin. New title or not, his dearest friend is still the same.

“What,” Felix snaps flatly, his brows scrunching in concentration as he circles Sylvain on the training grounds, “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

He doesn’t answer.

Generally, Sylvain views sparring as a chore. But with Felix it’s exhilarating, pushing both of them to their limits, triggering that same rush of life or death endorphins without real danger. They’d begun this training routine after a brush with death that was too close for Felix’s comfort. Sylvain saved Felix’s life, but had been entirely too reckless going about it. He couldn’t deny Felix’s request to take his training more seriously when he’d seen how concerned the younger man had been. He’d made a promise and he intends to keep it.

It’s also useful to understand each other’s weaknesses, since the two of them always fight side by side on the battlefield. On the ground, Felix can protect him and his mount from close quarter attacks, allowing Sylvain to handle longer range enemies. It also provides Felix an easy retreat if necessary. While he may not enjoy fighting on horseback like Sylvain, the mobility of cavalry cannot be underestimated.

Nor does Sylvain intend to underestimate Felix. They’ve been at this for hours and for once, Sylvain thinks he can actually win. He’s too close to let Felix distract him from his prize now. Sylvain keeps pace with Felix, keeping him from getting too close and nullifying the advantage of his lance’s reach.

“You’ve gotten better,” Felix begrudgingly admits, dodging Sylvain’s sharp jab. 

The rare compliment only serves to make Sylvain more determined. Someone else might misinterpret Felix’s piercing stare as hostile, but Sylvain knows better. Felix slides his right foot forward just slightly and Sylvain barely has time to react before he’s bringing his lance up horizontally to block Felix’s overhead swing. The wooden blade clacks against Sylvain’s training lance and he can feel his arms trembling from the effort. When Felix’s Crest activates, his strength is almost equal to Dimitri’s. Felix grits his teeth, pushing down, trying to force Sylvain to drop his guard.

No longer at their usual distance, Sylvain can see rivulets of sweat running down the sharp angles of Felix’s cheekbone, the slight flush of exertion across his face, the burning intensity of vermillion eyes locked with his. His heart stutters for a moment, his body betraying his willpower, and it’s only too easy for Felix to slide his blade down the length of lance, rapping his knuckles. With an undignified yelp, Sylvain drops one side of his lance, the sound is quickly cutting off as he becomes very aware of the tip of Felix’s sword resting on the hollow of his throat.

“Yield.”

Sylvain raises his hands in defeat, conceding to the superior swordsman. He shakes his head laughing, “I’m never going to be able to best you.”

The session left Sylvain completely exhausted and he sags in relief on one of the bordering benches. Felix has a knack for drawing every single ounce of effort out of Sylvain before he’ll allow Sylvain to rest.

“You’re not that hard to beat.” Felix looks at Sylvain askance, still standing with one hand on his hip.

It’s unfair how handsome Felix looks in that pose. Haughty and regal, as though he’s entitled to Sylvain’s utter devotion. If it weren’t for the fact that Felix is completely oblivious to such things, Sylvain would think he was doing it on purpose. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Sylvain can allow himself to appreciate Felix all he wants, but Felix will never notice.

Sylvain claps a hand to his chest mockingly, grimacing in pain, “I’m wounded, Fe! I gave you my best today.” 

“It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long,” Felix snorts. 

Not a wonder – he’s survived this long because Felix is frequently watching his back – a fact that Sylvain is sure Felix is aware of, but not one he’s going to give him the satisfaction of voicing.

“Aw come on, don’t tell me you’re tired of me already!” 

Sylvain punches him good-naturedly in the shoulder. Jokes provide an effective diversion from Sylvain’s vulnerability. Both for others and himself. He values Felix too much to disrupt the fragile rekindling of their friendship with his ridiculous daydreams. Sylvain looks but does not touch, allows himself his fantasies, but does not voice them. It’s been like this for years. Felix is Sylvain’s best friend. That’s enough for him.

“Hmph,” is all Felix deigns to respond to him with. Then he crosses his arms moodily, “Please, don’t call me Fe at the celebration next week.”

Sylvain waggles his eyebrows at Felix, “Why? Would you rather I address you as the _Shield of Faerghus_?” 

If there is a nickname Felix hates more than Fe, it’s his father’s moniker. Though, as much as Felix huffs and protests, Sylvain thinks he secretly likes Fe. Felix groans, rubbing his face with his hands. 

“You know I’m only going because I have to. I’m not cut out for this – this nobility nonsense. Give me a sword and point me at an enemy any day. But formal occasions?” he gags, “I’d rather be stabbed.”

“Come now,” Sylvain croons, “You’ll have someone there to keep you company. It won’t be that bad.”

Silence. Felix’s hand clenches and his lips press into a thin line.

“No,” Sylvain’s eyes widen in shock, “Really? You haven’t asked anyone to be your date?”

A hiss escapes between Felix’s gritted teeth as he tries to force his rigid body to relax. 

“I’ve been busy.”

He’s lying. Sylvain knows he is. They’ve known each other long enough that Sylvain knows that the only time Felix can’t meet his eyes is when he’s embarrassed. Sensitive to his friend’s feelings, Sylvain tries to offer options.

“What about Annette? You’ve always been fond of her singing. I’m sure her klutzy catastrophes could provide some entertainment for the evening,” Sylvain suggests.

Felix’s mouth twists in disdain, like Sylvain is the biggest fool in all of Fódlan.

“Annette is going with Mercedes,” Felix says flatly, glaring at Sylvain.

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Sylvain drags out as the realization hits him. That explains why Annette’s disasters seem to increase in frequency around Mercedes. And Mercedes in turn can barely conceal her titters behind her hand. No one else affects her so. He starts counting down on his fingers, going through all their friends. 

“What about Ashe? I’m sure he’d be delighted to watch his favorite knight at the king’s side.”

Again, Felix snorts in frustration. 

“I doubt it, as he’s already asked Dedue to accompany him. I’m certainly _not_ his favorite knight.”

“Ok well,” Sylvain trails off. It’s unlike him to be out of his depth like this. “Dimitri is going with Byleth, obviously… Ingrid?” 

The look Felix shoots at him has Sylvain immediately backtracking. 

“Yeah no, I doubt she’d be interested. I guess that leaves me!”

“What,” Felix spits out, “Aren’t you bringing some foolish new girl with you?” 

It’s less of a question and more like a weapon as it leaves his mouth, making Sylvain flinch. Normally he would, but the Professor knocked some sense into him. As unfair and painful the Crest system has been for him, it’s not commoner girls’ fault for wanting a better life. Sylvain doesn’t regret breaking up with any of his exes, but if he wasn’t such an asshole he’d have realized a few of them were sincere. They didn’t deserve that. Sylvain rubs his chin, wondering if he’s going to regret this. But a chance to be Felix’s date? How could he pass on such a prime opportunity?

“I mean, I was planning on finding someone today. But I can’t very well let my best friend make a fool of himself at his first public debut! Besides, you’re terrible at fashion. I bet you’re planning on wearing the same boring blue outfit you wear every day.”

Honestly, did the man own anything else? Felix fumbles with the cuff of his sleeve nervously, flush with embarrassment. Blue is Sylvain’s favorite color, but surely Felix is aware that there is a color spectrum.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s… formal.”

Sylvain strides forward and claps him on the back with a look that is decidedly mischievous. He pointedly ignores the warmth beneath his hand despite Felix’s multiple layers. Foolish. The adrenaline from sparring must be getting to him.

“My friend, we are going shopping.”

* * *

Sylvain drags Felix to one of the few formal clothing stalls still operating in the capital. Unsurprisingly, demand has been quite low during wartime so the owner was over the moon to cater to Sylvain’s every whim. Felix huffs as yet another ridiculous costume is forced over his head. His bun is unraveling, indigo strands falling down the sides of his face. Sylvain reaches out to brush them behind his ear before thinking better and merely smoothing out a wrinkle in the cape.

“Well,” Felix demands, “Exactly how much like a puffed peacock do I look?”

Sylvain eyes him in surprise. Felix’s outfit is still blue, but a much darker and deeper blue than before. More like the midnight sky, it contrasts with his pale skin perfectly. And unlike the high-necked collars Felix usually wears the crisscrossing fabric of the tunic leaves a small v at the base of his throat allowing just the smallest glimpse of the ends of his collarbones. A silver fur cape flows off his shoulders ending at Felix’s narrow waist. It’s still understated, Felix would never abide by anything flashy, but Felix’s generally practical approach to clothing has been streamlined into something rather more feline in grace.

“Damn, Fe,” Sylvain breathes, flashing a cheeky smile at him, “You clean up nice.”

He says it in the same tone he uses with all the girls he flirts with. It comes out shallow and insincere, but the alternative of Felix believing him is far too mortifying.

“Fine.” Felix turns to the shop owner, “I’ll take it.”

He returns the clothes and pulls out a small pouch to count the correct amount while the shopkeeper wraps up the purchase. Felix turns back to Sylvain who quickly hides his bemused smile. He’s probably tortured Felix enough for one day.

“Are you satisfied?” Felix asks.

Sylvain reaches for the correct words to convey that yes, he’s content that Felix will be appropriately attired for the evening, but that satisfied is not a word Sylvain would ever use to describe himself in regard to Felix, that – 

“My lords!” 

Sylvain turns, his spiraling train of thought disrupted by the appearance of a young page running up to them, gasping heavily.

“Is something wrong?” Felix asks, already gathering up his things to dash into action.

“Apologies, for my – state – my lords.” The page takes a deep breath, “I’ve been searching the capital for you all morning. His Majesty requests your presence in his study.”

Sylvain shares a worried glance with Felix and then they’re off heading towards the royal castle. It’s sort of sweet, the way Felix strides forward with such purpose and concern when it involves Dimitri now. Not that Sylvain is jealous, it’s just nice to see Felix and Dimitri repairing their friendship at last. He’s sure everything is fine, all the treacherous Kingdom houses have returned to the fold and he doubts that a southern army would be able to brave the frigid winter this time of year. Even when the Empire had conquered part of the Kingdom, they’d had to do it with northern traitors. But Sylvain knows Felix always has his guard up. They all do, for one reason or another.

When they arrive at the king’s study, they find Dimitri and Byleth waiting there for them, a report laid out on the massive desk. Dimitri looks up and gives them a nod of welcome.

“Felix. Sylvain. Good, you’re here. We’ve retaken Fhirdiad, but our forces are greatly reduced now. Imperial troops are on the move, but we have no idea what the Empire has in store for us now. It’ll be difficult enough for us to maintain our borders as it is.”

Dimitri laces his fingers under his chin, and… is biting the inside of his cheek? Sylvain narrows his eyes slightly, taking in the tension between Dimitri and Byleth. There’s a subtle shake to Byleth’s shoulders and he realizes that she’s trying to hold in laughter. What in Sothis’ name could be funny about their military situation?

“Ahem… beloved, you’re the um… _tactician_ behind this particular plan,” Dimitri chokes out, and then so quietly Sylvain almost didn’t catch it, “ _Save me from the humiliation of explaining this, please.”_

Byleth shoots him a look of equal parts adoration and amusement before facing the two of them. Sylvain waits apprehensively.

“We need more information to fight the Empire effectively. I don’t know where Edelgard is getting her forces from, but the magic they wield is beyond us. If we head into our next battle unprepared she could wipe us out. Cornelia’s Titanus’ were just the beginning. I need the two of you to collect intelligence.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Erm, Professor, no offense, but subtlety and espionage are not my areas of expertise. How exactly do you expect us to go about this?”

“We have an advantage. Ferdinand," Byleth replies evenly.

Felix crosses his arms. “Ferdinand is hardly loyal to our cause, Professor. Why would he help us?”

“I’m not sure if he will yet. But you’ve spent the most time with him during his imprisonment, Sylvain. I was hoping you might convince him to aid us in this plan.”

Ferdinand! Well, this is certainly unexpected. Sure, he’d gotten to know Ferdinand over the last few months more than the others, but Sylvain wouldn’t say they were close friends per se.

“Sure, sure. But Professor, I think I’m still unclear what the plan is?” Sylvain says, still baffled by Ferdinand’s inclusion in all of this. 

Byleth blushes. The _Professor_ , the former Ashen Demon, the blank-stared-for-most-of-their-academy-days Professor blushes. It’s an innocuous enough expression, but the pure rarity of it makes a pit of unease sink into Sylvain’s stomach.

“We would like the two of you to pretend to defect to the Empire and take Ferdinand back with you.”

Felix’s eyes widen and Sylvain can’t help his mouth falling open as he stares at Dimitri and Byleth.

“And why in Goddess’ name would we do that? What are we supposed to tell them?” Felix demands.

“The two of you are going to defect under the pretense that you would not be allowed to be in a relationship with each other in the Kingdom.”

Sylvain considers for a moment that five years of sleep has addled the Professor and that she has truly taken leave of all her senses.

“You’re joking right…?” he wheezes in disbelief. 

Looking over, Sylvain takes in Felix’s expression. He could’ve been carved from stone for all Sylvain knows.

“You want me. And Sylvain. To pretend to be together. For the Emperor,” Felix spits out through his teeth.

“The Emperor seems to believe that we are married to the old ways of doing things. The old Kingdom would absolutely have forbidden two Crest-bearing nobles from entering into a relationship that has very little chance of producing heirs. Given your long history together, Felix’s past treatment of Dimitri, and Edelgard’s vow to create a world without Crests and nobility, it seemed the most believable excuse for why two of our most highly ranked officers would defect. You would be extremely valuable to them. Or can you think of a better plan?” Byleth asks.

“B-believable – _relationship_ – “ Sylvain stutters, face a stunning beet red.

Surely she knows exactly how much she’s asking of the two of them. Does she? Does she know about… No. She couldn’t.

There isn’t enough air to breathe in here, which he supposes could be due to the altitude, but Fhirdiad has never in his life felt this hot. Sylvain’s heavy fur underclothing is suddenly stifling, boiling him alive in his dark knight armor – he prays to evaporate into thin air. Felix should have killed him in the training grounds. It would be preferable to this hell.

“You would have to spend a little bit of time – _ahem_ – establishing your relationship here before defecting, otherwise they’ll never believe you,” Dimitri adds, dragging his sheepish gaze up from his map. 

The tips of Dimitri’s ears are on fire. Given what he knows about Dimitri’s romantic past, Sylvain is honestly shocked he managed to confess his love for Byleth. Felix looks like he could strangle Dimitri and is physically restraining himself from doing so.

“You want me to – to _parade_ around Fhirdiad, holding Sylvain’s hand? As if I would ever do something so ridiculous!” Felix snaps.

“Hey!” Sylvain yelps indignantly, “This hand is in high demand, I’ll have you know. You couldn’t even find yourself a date for the ball! You were going to make an absolute fool of yourself next week before I graciously offered my assistance.”

“You’re Felix’s date for the Founding Day celebration?” Byleth asks curiously.

“He had another date that he ditched,” Felix answers disdainfully.

“Is that true, Sylvain?” Dimitri looks at him.

It’s unnerving having everyone’s expectant eyes on him.

“No! I mean…,” Sylvain stutters, “I was going to ask someone, but- but this idiot needed my help!”

“How very _gallant_ of you,” Felix says dryly, “I’m ecstatic to have earned your pity. The man I’m supposed to run away with.” He turns back to Byleth with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Let’s say, for the sake of this argument, that Sylvain and I could pull this off. I still don’t understand why we have to bring Ferdinand with us.”

“Ferdinand is the Emperor’s Prime Minister. He’s a highly valuable prisoner. If you show up in Enbarr with him in tow, it will be far more believable that you actually defected. Why would we just let him go otherwise? And… there have been some rumors about him and Hubert. Perhaps that would make the Empire more sympathetic to your story,” Dimitri explains.

“I think you’ve forgotten a very important detail, Boar,” Felix laughs harshly, like broken glass, “Sylvain is a known _skirt-chaser_. The idea that he would defect – for my love is – ”

“ _Felix_ ,” Byleth tries to intervene. 

“–utterly unthinkable.” 

Felix directs a cruel sneer in Sylvain’s direction, pinning him to his seat, stabbing through him with a rusted blade. 

“He has the faithfulness of a tomcat in heat and all the sincerity of a second-rate bard. Anyone who believes I’d throw my sword away for that is a damn fool.”

Minutes pass totally devoid of sound. Byleth has never been the most talkative, but rarely has Sylvain seen her speechless. Dimitri’s pale blue eye is wide, his face drained of color. Whereas before Sylvain was too hot, now he is completely numb, empty, a shell of a man.

He and Felix had grown apart for a time, divided by Felix’s obsession with the sword and Sylvain’s frequent trysts. But Sylvain thought they had moved beyond that, Felix’s mask coming down occasionally, Sylvain proving his worth on the battlefield. Felix is cold and focused, practical to a fault. Sylvain is warm and relaxed, finding pockets of joy no matter where he is. They’re so different and yet they complement each other in a way Sylvain’s various dates never did. He cares for the man. It’s a gift just to have someone like that in his life, nevermind that Sylvain catches himself glancing with half-lidded gaze at Felix’s lower lip when he worries it in concentration. Just a passing thought, nothing worth contemplating for long. Felix doesn’t suffer the weak. And Sylvain will burn in the eternal flames before he proves Felix right.

“I’m in,” Sylvain declares, and he has the satisfaction of seeing Felix’s head snap in his direction. “Felix doesn’t know the first thing about romance, as married to his sword as he is. You need someone with a heart on this mission. And you’re right, Professor, we don’t know what we’ll be walking into at our next battle. I don’t want to lose anyone.”

Dimitri breathes out a relieved sigh, the tension broken.

“You have my most sincere gratitude, Sylvain. First, you’ll need to convince Ferdinand to agree to this.”

“Of course, although, you may have to give me some time. Ferdinand doesn’t have ill will towards us, but this is still a big ask of him,” Sylvain says, his mind already working through various possibilities like it’s one of the strategy board games he used to play with Byleth back at the academy. 

Byleth and Dimitri both nod in assent.

“How the two of you go about presenting yourselves is up to you,” Dimitri says. “The Founding Day Ball will provide an opportune chance to publicly defect. We’ll also need to convince the rest of the court that Byleth and I are truly at odds with you. Though, that shouldn’t be too difficult for you Felix,” he throws wryly at the seething swordsman.

“Felix please… for me,” Byleth says quietly. 

Felix groans, glaring at her. Felix cares about Dimitri, but not that much. For Byleth though? No one else commands as much respect from him.

“You’ll owe me several matches when we get back,” Felix says begrudgingly, stabbing a finger at her.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replies, eyes sparkling playfully, “I’ll still win though.”

Felix swears under his breath and stalks towards the door, still incensed by the whole interaction. Sylvain follows and takes a deep breath, knowing it’s going to hurt to say what he needs to.

“Fe, love?” 

Even doing his best to steady his voice, it still sounds shaky to Sylvain’s ears. Felix fixes him with an arched eyebrow. _Love?_ , his molten eyes ask.

“Um, well, we need to make this believable, right? Shouldn’t we start now? We’re supposed to be in conflict with His Majesty and the Professor after all…” Sylvain trails off as his courage begins to leave him. 

Felix jerks his chin towards the floor, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

“To do this… we’re going to have to be… _affectionate_ ,” Felix forces out, one hand on his hip, the other covering his face, surely in disbelief to be finding himself in this position.

Sylvain still can’t quite wrap his head around what just happened.

“It’s alright, Felix, um, you can touch me…” 

Eternal flames, when had Sylvain been this shy before? Felix drops his hand and gives him a short nod.

“You’re right, _Syl._ It’s time we leave the Boar to his selfish happiness,” Felix says, raising his voice as he pushes open the door to the hallway. 

The guards don’t stand directly outside the king’s chambers to provide privacy, but even down the hallway they should hear Felix. Sylvain’s heart skips a beat. Felix has never called him “Syl” before. _Goddess above, Felix is going to be the death of me._

“It’ll be alright, Fe, maybe they just need some time,” Sylvain whispers loudly. 

Then, letting his hand move of its own accord, he reaches out and gently presses into the small of Felix’s back to guide him down the stairs. To Felix’s credit, he only jumps slightly. As soon as the guards are out of sight, they separate, a flush covering both of their faces.

“I gu – guess I’ll go talk to Ferdinand now, yeah?” Sylvain stammers out, and then quickly exits the building towards the guest suites without waiting for a response. 

This mission is definitely going to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain tries to convince Ferdinand to join them.

**~Ferdinand~**

Ferdinand is pouring himself an afternoon cup of tea when he hears a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he calls, as if he had a choice in the matter. 

The heavy oak door creaks in, the gleaming plate armor of his guard just visible to the side before a shock of bright red hair steps in. Sylvain sets down a tray of lunch down on the tiny excuse of a table Ferdinand has for entertaining guests (if you could call supervised visitors guests) in the corner of the room. 

“Thank you,” he says politely, smiling slightly when Sylvain seats himself in one of the two chairs. 

The guest room he’s been put up in is comfortable. He has a real bed rather than a cot and window with a decent view of the Seiros cathedral in the distance. The tall spires break up the city skyline that otherwise is low lying with the exception of the castle. He has decent clothes, even if they’re not his normal finery. Ferdinand is more than grateful that he hasn’t been thrown in the Fhirdiad dungeons. But still, it gets lonely. He’s glad for the company. Searching in his cabinet for a moment, Ferdinand pulls out a second cup and offers it to Sylvain. 

“I apologize, I don’t have any bergamot or Seiros tea to offer you, but you know how war is, supplies are tight.” 

Ferdinand seats himself across from Sylvain, looking curiously at the nervous dark knight. He keeps switching which foot he has across his knee and can’t seem to sit still. Sylvain is gripping his tea cup so tightly his knuckles are turning white. 

“It’s alright,” Sylvain waves him off halfheartedly, “I’m not picky.” 

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, enjoying the increased quality of food that’s been available in the capital much more than the sad rations they make do with in the field. But Sylvain still doesn’t speak even after they’re done, so Ferdinand clears his throat. 

“Something on your mind?” 

Sylvain startles at the question, eyes flashing at Ferdinand with a hint of… panic? 

“Um, Ferdinand…” Sylvain starts, clearly uncomfortable, “Are your accommodations satisfactory? They’re not treating you too badly I hope.” 

Ferdinand narrows his eyes, deciphering if this is a trick question. 

“They’re more than satisfactory. I’m extremely grateful to not be wasting away in a prison cell. Not that I expected less from you!” Ferdinand hastily reassures Sylvain. “But I also wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. I am a prisoner of war after all, an enemy.” 

Sylvain sets down his tea cup with a loud clink. Ferdinand resists the urge to flinch. It’s not even his tea set, there’s no reason for him to be so protective of the porcelain. 

“Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Sylvain says, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. “Do you still think of us as enemies? Think of me as an enemy?” 

Ferdinand pauses mid-sip, contemplating his choices carefully before responding. 

“I enjoy your company, Sylvain. And I’m most grateful for the time you set aside for me. It breaks up the monotony. But I doubt it would do anyone good to be friends with me in my current situation. At least not until the war ends. And, I may lose my head after that.” 

He laughs hollowly, throat tightening at the thought. 

“His Majesty would never,” Sylvain says frowning. “I doubt he wants any more blood on his hands.” 

_Interesting_. Ferdinand files away that tidbit of information. Yet another difference between Dimitri and Edelgard. Ferdinand has no doubt that should anyone pose even the slightest threat to her vision for the future, Edelgard would not hesitate to strike them down. And if she didn’t, Hubert definitely would. 

Hubert. For a moment, Ferdinand allows himself to imagine that it is the sleep-deprived, brooding spymaster drinking coffee with him today. They used to sit in the tea gardens at the palace in Enbarr. There was a lovely white gazebo laced with rose bushes that had been grown into a braided pattern around the columns. The abundance of flowers brought all sorts of songbirds to the area. His personal favorite is the red cardinal, its vibrant color reminiscent of the Imperial banners. Hubert never had a favorite bird when Ferdinand asked him, but he imagines the dark-haired minister would be partial to ravens. Hubert would probably have some snarky comment ready about the predicament Ferdinand finds himself in. He holds the vision close, then he lets the daydream slip away. It is likely he will never see Hubert again. Even rationally knowing the nature of war, Ferdinand’s heart still aches with longing for his old life, his old comrades, his old study. He’s alive and that’s a gift. But now he wastes away in this room, of no use to anyone, a disgraced former Prime Minister. 

“That is… reassuring,” he finally says in reply. “But correct me if I’m wrong, that is not what you’re here to discuss.” 

“Look, I know we found ourselves on opposite sides of this war, but we used to be close at the academy, Ferdinand. I was never one for sparring, but you were always willing to help me correct my cavalier technique. And despite your obsession with nobility, you never criticized me for having no interest in my inheritance…” 

Sylvain is babbling a bit, the thread of his thoughts unspooling the longer he talks. 

“Well, I can hardly fault you for hating your father, can I? I’m very familiar with the sentiment,” Ferdinand says sourly. 

He still remembers Hubert telling him the news that his father had been placed under house arrest. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset that his father wasn’t dead. But there was a gleam of satisfaction in Hubert’s eye, and Ferdinand felt a weight lifted off his chest as he realized that he would never have to fear his father again. 

“It’s not just that. You were… you were there for me after,” Sylvain winces, “Miklan.” 

There’s so much sorrow in his voice that Ferdinand can’t help but reach forward to clasp the other man’s arm in solidarity. 

“You were in pain, of course I wanted to help. The rest of the academy seemed to continue on, as if you hadn’t just been forced to kill your own brother. It never came to pass, but at the time, I wondered if I would have to do the same to my father eventually.” 

Sylvain sighs, still very distracted. 

“Sylvain,” Ferdinand says firmly, “I am glad that we weren’t forced into a situation where one of us might kill the other. But the academy was a long time ago. Surely you didn’t come here to reminisce?” 

Sylvain squares his shoulders and finally looks Ferdinand full in the eye. 

“No, I didn’t. Ferdinand, the Professor and His Majesty have a plan that you play a part in, if you’re willing.” 

“Me?” Ferdinand asks in surprise. 

He hasn’t seen the Professor much since his capture. It’s thanks to her that he’s alive at all. Ferdinand was willing to go down defending the Great Bridge of Myrrdin, but she refused to kill him. He suppresses a laugh remembering how easy it had been for her to knock him off his horse and disarm him with nothing more than a flick of her wrist. And he’d once been determined to surpass Edelgard. What a fool he’d been. 

“She still thinks of you as one of her students, you know?” Sylvain confesses. “She wants to visit you. She just doesn’t have a lot of free time, what with being the strategist behind everything. And… I think the Professor feels guilty that she didn’t do more to prevent this, that we’re fighting against each other in the first place. Though why she believes she’s responsible is beyond me. She can’t control everything.” 

He fixes Ferdinand with a sharp look, “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. She’s very… private with her feelings.” 

Ferdinand mimes zipping his lips shut. “Your secret is safe with me. So, this plan you were telling me about?” 

“Yes, right. The plan,” Sylvain grimaces, “Look I’ll be honest with you. Retaking Fhirdiad was a hell of a fight. Cornelia’s Titanus… I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Ferdinand blanches slightly. He hadn’t either. Despite being Prime Minister, Edelgard and Hubert still kept some secrets from him, especially if they thought he would object on noble or honorable grounds. This dark magic that the Kingdom keeps encountering is likely just the tip of the iceberg. 

“We need to know what we’re up against or we’re all going to die,” Sylvain continues, oblivious to Ferdinand’s internal guilt. “So Felix and I are going on a reconnaissance mission. With you.” 

Ferdinand’s brain short-circuits momentarily. _With me?_

“I… fail to see what I could offer,” he replies cautiously. 

Sylvain groans, clearly upset at what he needs to tell Ferdinand, and buries his face in his hands. 

“They want Felix and I to ‘defect’ from the Kingdom to the Empire under the premise that we can’t be together here. And we’re to bring you along so we don’t get killed outright as soon as we set foot in Adrestian territory. Perhaps you could even help us learn vital information. You were the Prime Minister after all. They’d be ecstatic to have you back. If you did, it would reflect favorably on you and potentially secure a place for you in the Kingdom after this is all over.” 

Ferdinand blinks at Sylvain, trying to process multiple things at once. One, Sylvain and Felix are clearly in love with each other, if the dark knight’s frequent complaints about the swordsman were anything to go off of. The opportunity to watch them bumble their way through performing their real feelings is appealing. But the second half of Sylvain’s explanation brings everything crashing down. _…help us learn vital information. You were the Prime Minister…_

“I’m not disloyal, Sylvain,” he says grimly, “I would’ve thought you know me better than that. I may have been captured, and I may make myself as little of an inconvenience as possible as a prisoner, but I _will not_ betray the Empire.” 

Ferdinand’s eyes shine with moisture and he finishes quietly, “Please don’t ask that of me. My honor is the only thing I have left.” 

The scattered nature of Sylvain’s thoughts suggests to Ferdinand that he was only just beginning to come to terms with the mission himself. Ferdinand can’t imagine the premise of a relationship with Felix was appreciated. But his rejection of the offer seems to shake Sylvain out of his distracted state. Now he is calm and steady, completely focused on Ferdinand. 

“You don’t have to choose now. I know it’s not fair of me to ask this of you, but I have to. I’ve watched too many friends die, too many former classmates die, to protect your honor.” 

Sylvain isn’t pleading exactly, he’s giving Ferdinand enough room to freely choose his course of action. But Sylvain is earnest all the same. Ferdinand cannot give him what he seeks. 

“I cannot help you.” 

The room falls deathly quiet. 

“I see,” Sylvain states roughly. 

The dark knight abruptly stands, almost knocking over his chair in the process. “You know, I knew that’s what you’d say. But I really hoped you’d join us.” 

Sylvain faces him again, Ferdinand has never seen his eyes be so serious before. 

“I’ll see you again in a few days. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Can I trust you enough to not breathe a word of this until then? Swear on House Aegir, Ferdinand, or you won’t have any visitors until this mission is over.” 

Ferdinand clenches his jaw. On House Aegir? Sylvain knows what that means for him. He could never break an oath sworn on his noble lineage. But then he considers, it’s only until Sylvain’s next meeting and it would give him a chance to mull over his circumstances. He gulps. 

“You have my word on House Aegir that I will not speak of your mission to anyone before you return.” 

Sylvain considers him shrewdly, probably wondering if Ferdinand meant until Sylvain visited him again or until he and Felix return from their mission. Either way he appears satisfied because he strides towards the door again. 

“Well, I won’t bother you further then. Have a good evening, von Aegir.” 

Ferdinand winces at the loud slam the door makes on Sylvain’s way out. So much for being friends. He shakes his head sharply, trying to dispel his conflicted feelings. _You are a prisoner of war Ferdinand. You can’t afford to be making friends with the enemy. And you absolutely cannot betray your homeland._ He would never. But Ferdinand would be lying if the ongoing war hadn’t occupied most of his thoughts of late. No matter how he spins it, the bloody conflict would result in one victor over the vanquished. Either the Imperial Princess would fall, or the Savior King would. Goddess help his classmates who fought under the defeated ruler. Ferdinand still isn’t sure where Claude fits into all of this, but from what he saw from his academy days, Claude was crafty enough to have a contingency plan. He doubts Claude would let himself get killed over pride. 

He sighs, finally admitting the truth to himself. Ferdinand is fond of the Blue Lions. Mercedes had been so gentle tending to his wounds in the weeks following the battle at the bridge. Once he’d recovered, Annette made a habit of sharing her latest ditties with him, her sweet smile a welcome respite and an opportunity for Ferdinand to indulge in one of the few joys left to him, singing. Ingrid always gave him subtle looks of respect when dropping off his daily portions. Perhaps, given Ingrid’s own feelings about the knighthood and loyalty, Ferdinand shouldn’t have been surprised. Ashe constantly brings him books about knights and chivalry to help pass the time. Even the Professor, though she does not visit him in person, Ferdinand is certain she is responsible for the unsigned gifts of tea and even a silk handkerchief once, like the ones he used to wear. And finally, Sylvain. He is closest to Sylvain out of everyone, unsurprising given their friendship at the academy. Though, after the way he ended their last meeting, Ferdinand isn’t sure when he’ll see him next. 

While Ferdinand cannot hope for the Blue Lion’s victory in good faith without the guilt of treason eating at his heart, neither does he wish to see any of them fall to harm. And should the Kingdom win, Ferdinand fears for his comrades’ safety. They will surely fight to the bitter end, as he should have. The lukewarm tea suddenly tastes far too bitter in his mouth. Ferdinand was weak. He should have fallen defending his post. Then he wouldn’t be in this situation, foolishly wishing for a peaceful solution to a necessarily violent war. The future of Fódlan is worth the lives lost now. At least, that is what Edelgard says. And he believes in her cause, truly. A meritocracy where all could make something of themselves regardless of the circumstances of their birth, Crest or Crestless, noble or commoner. 

And yet, Ferdinand could not deny the twinges of treasonous thoughts that had plagued him since his capture. Is the war necessary? The Kingdom did not seem so opposed to the Empire’s goals as he originally thought. The system of Crests and nobility had brought all of his classmates enough grief to last a lifetime. Sylvain often talked about Dimitri’s vision for the new world. He would make amends with Duscar and revitalize the land and its people. And not just Duscar, Dimitri wants to pursue more amicable diplomatic relations with all the neighboring countries so that Crests are no longer necessary to defend their borders. Most importantly of all, Dimitri intends to dismantle the Church of Seiros when all is said and done, just like Edelgard. The last bit surprises Ferdinand. There was never an explanation why, either Sylvain didn’t know or wouldn’t tell him. But there must be a good reason, upsetting the large numbers of devout followers in the Kingdom would hardly be worth it otherwise. 

He’s in a precarious position now. The Kingdom’s treatment of him had been genteel up to now. And Ferdinand just spat on that generosity when offered an opportunity to repay it. Well, he knew the risks. Ferdinand accepts his likely fate now. A noble death in the end. _But far from home_ , he thinks wistfully. 

Home. The word closes his throat temporarily and Ferdinand allows a tear to fall down his face. It splashes onto his hand and snaps him back to reality. What if…? No, it’s too outrageous. It could never work. And yet… Ferdinand smirks. Hubert’s playfully disdainful insults of him ring in his ear. Ferdinand von Aegir is the embodiment of outrageous. A swell of his old confidence brings a smile to his face. If he accepts this mission, it could provide him the opening he needs. Ferdinand hopes that Hubert will listen. Now he just needs to figure out how to lure Sylvain back. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix comes to terms with the ridiculous mission he's accepted and finds his own way to contribute.

**~Felix~**

“You’re smiling more than usual.” 

Ingrid’s perpetually inconvenient ability to read him is going to unravel this whole plan and it’s only the second day. Felix schools his face into his usual scowl.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He focuses in on the Daphnel stew in front of him. If his mouth is full, he can’t answer questions. Ingrid has a voracious appetite. The fact that not even one of her favorite foods can distract her from this line of questioning means she’s especially determined today. She fixes him with a familiar dubious expression.

“Felix, I know you better than that. What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, frowning, but Felix can see a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

He knows exactly why his normally iron grip on his emotions has slipped. There was a note tied to a single deep crimson amaryllis with a shock of white in the center outside his door this morning.

_Fe,_

_I’d love for you to meet me at the training grounds this evening. I have a surprise in store._

_Syl_

_P.S. You won’t need a sword._

Felix doesn’t normally care for flowers, but perhaps, just this once he can allow himself to enjoy the momentary warmth that flooded his chest at the sight. It means nothing, he knows, it’s all for the mission. As soon as this is all over, Sylvain and Felix will return to their taunting, competitive friendship. That’s all Felix needs from Sylvain.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the package I saw Sylvain leaving the armory with this morning would it?”

He pauses mid-bite. 

“Sylvain was at the armory?” Felix asks curiously. 

Ingrid crosses her arms and smirks slightly.

“Hmph. Never mind then. Still doesn’t explain your unexpected cheeriness. Not that it’s improved your attitude towards His Majesty,” Ingrid admonishes. 

Felix resists the urge to wince. It’s a necessary part of their ruse at the moment, but ever since Dimitri returned to himself, Felix hasn’t seriously tried to antagonize him. Instead, he stabs a fork viciously into a chunk of meat and doesn’t respond. Ingrid sighs and tries a gentler approach.

“I know things are complicated between you two, but I thought it was getting better. His Majesty is trying to make amends you know.”

“It has nothing to do with the past,” Felix growls, falling into a familiar pattern of blunt anger that pushes people away. 

It’s strange to do when he doesn’t actually feel this way. But at least this is a part he knows how to play.

“Then…?” 

Ingrid waits patiently for an answer from Felix. He knows from experience that she won’t let up until he tells her something. Good. It’s not that Ingrid is prone to gossip, but her sense of duty will require her to say something and help spread the rumors. Maybe it would get back to Dedue. The Duscar native’s devotion to Dimitri will help sell this farce. He shudders slightly. Dedue’s wrath is something to behold.

“I’m not fighting in this war out of a sense of obligation or some stupid notion of king and country. I have things that I want, things I… I hope for. But the Boar, he wants duty and sacrifices from me that I can’t give him,” Felix explains. 

A half-truth, more believable than if he had lied outright.

“I see. Well, I’m sure you two will sort it out eventually,” Ingrid says hopefully.

“Don’t count on it,” he adds darkly. 

Felix thinks he’s set the stage sufficiently and that it’s better to leave well enough alone. He turns to regard her, propping up his head on one hand, relaxing his posture, “I’m content today, I’d rather not spoil it by talking about him.”

“My apologies,” Ingrid replies contritely, “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m supposed to train with Sylvain later this evening,” Felix says, anticipation curling in his stomach. 

He can never turn down an invitation to spar. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to pummeling Sylvain into the dirt later today. Until Felix remembers the reason for their meeting.

He didn’t know what Byleth and Dimitri were thinking, sending him on this mission. How the hell is he supposed to court Sylvain? Love, romance, and seductive words have never fit Felix well. It’s not that he’s _incapable_ of emotion. He’s not immune, far from it. If anything, Felix feels far too much. But he refuses to let his feelings rule him. He won’t become like the Boar, rampaging in grief, nor will he fly his heart like a flag, to snag any passerby like Sylvain. Byleth understands that. He knows how much she cares for Dimitri. But that never stopped her from doing what had to be done, even when the Boar was still mad with bloodlust. It’s that respect, that unwavering faith that she will lead them all out of this hellscape, that made him agree in the end. Byleth has never asked more from him than she knows he is capable of. Felix has to believe that’s true even now.

But if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. It would be worse than useless for Felix to try and pass himself off as some lovesick romantic. No one in all of Fódlan would buy that. Felix supposes that flowers and letters are Sylvain’s way. Though, he appreciated that Sylvain didn’t try any of his flowery language on him. Just a simple, short note.

“He’s been training a lot lately, mostly with you. I’m glad he’s finally taking it seriously. You must be a good influence Felix,” Ingrid ponders, her voice snapping Felix out of his reverie. 

Byleth wants a show? He’ll give them a show. Felix leans forward conspiratorially.

“You should come see then, if you’re free. I understand you’re busy like the rest of us,” he offers nonchalantly, feigning indifference to her decision. “War creates an absurd amount of paperwork. I don’t know how you all manage.” 

Ingrid sighs wearily, rubbing her temples.

“I know, it’s awful. But I’ll do my best to get away if I can.” 

Felix hides a smirk of satisfaction.

“Of course.”

* * *

Dimitri roared at a guard to drag Felix in here, allowing some of the feral beast he used to be to bleed into his demand. Though Felix knows it’s for show, that doesn’t stop a tinge of fear from creeping into his veins. Even now, he worries that his childhood friend will slip into the darkness again. Felix does what he has to in war, even if that means potentially cutting down former classmates. He already promised Dimitri that if he ever faltered again, Felix would be there to end him. But if his friend ever forces his hand, Felix isn’t sure he can survive the grief. To lose Dimitri again, after everything, after his father sacrificed himself to save Dimitri’s life... There’s only so much loss that Felix can handle. 

Maybe that’s why this mission fills him with such trepidation. It will require Felix to lower his defensive walls enough to let Sylvain in. It’s not the same as grief, but heartbreak can be just as potent.

“Don’t worry Felix, I’ll make sure Fraldarius territory is taken care of while you’re gone,” Dimitri says, switching back to his polite manner as soon as they’re in private again.

“One of my father’s men, Holt, should be able to help you with anything you need,” Felix replies, unconcerned that his lands will be overrun in the meantime. 

The territory had resisted the Empire even when their circumstances had been more dire. He looks at Dimitri more shrewdly. 

“Are you going to tell Margrave Gautier what’s going on, or no?”

“No. Sylvain’s father’s fury will be our most convincing piece of evidence. Though it pains me to know that will be his response if Sylvain does reject the prospect of heirs. I do apologize for all that we’re asking of you. It wasn’t…” Dimitri grimaces, “It wasn’t my first choice.”

“Heh, at least we have that in common. You’re not the first person the Professor has talked into doing ridiculous things. But,” Felix pauses begrudgingly, “you have to admit she gets results. By the way, you should find an excuse for either you or the Professor or both, I don’t know what you two do with your time, to come by the training grounds tonight. I might have mentioned to Ingrid that Sylvain and I will be there sparring.” 

Felix shrugs, “It’s as good an opportunity as any to play up this rift between us.” 

When he looks up, Dimitri nods in acknowledgement but stares at him with the oddest expression in his eye. Felix’s skin crawls. Just as he was able to see through Dimitri’s mask, Dimitri has always been able to see under his barbed personality. He hates it.

“What,” Felix snaps, “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Dimitri opens his mouth, then closes it again, seemingly unsure if he should say anything and struggling for words.

“Please, forgive me if I overstep my bounds. But I thought it was important to address this before the mission goes any further. Felix, do you feel anything for Sylvain, in truth? Not as a friend, I mean,” Dimitri asks hesitantly. 

Of all the things Felix expected Dimitri to say, this was not one of them. His hand drops to the pommel of his sword reflexively, like he’s about to be attacked, before forcing himself to relax. It would not do to draw his blade on the king. And then, because Felix knows Dimitri is sincere, that he won’t betray Felix’s confidence, that he’s trying to repair things between them, and maybe, just maybe, Felix needs to tell someone about the twisted tangled knot in his chest that he’s been trying to sort through ever since they got this mission, he answers honestly.

“I don’t know.” 

Felix squeezes his eyes shut, not interested in seeing whatever pitiful expression Dimitri is likely looking at him with. But when he finally opens his eyes, Dimitri isn’t looking at him at all. Instead, he’s regarding Areadbhar in its bracket on the wall.

“I won’t presume to tell you what to do. But, I know what it’s like to feel unworthy of love…” 

Dimitri trails off, traces of sadness lacing through his voice. 

“Byleth reached out a hand and pulled me back into the light. I owe her my life and every day I try to thank her for the debt I owe. But it’s not always about what you deserve, she says. Love is a gift. Either you accept it or you don’t.” 

He purses his lips. 

“I know you think little of my opinion, but regardless, I believe you to be worthy, deserving of care. You can’t be a weapon your entire life, Felix. Eventually, this war will end. And then what will you do?”

It’s a question that has kept Felix up at night. Swinging a sword is all he knows. He learned to wield a blade before he could write his own name. Felix is a warrior through and through. To be anything else… he can’t even imagine what that would look like. So he stays silent. Apparently that’s the answer Dimitri expected because after a moment he sighs and turns towards his desk. Felix watches curiously as he rummages through several drawers before finally pulling out a beautifully crafted dagger, its fine leather sheath embossed with the Fraldarius crest.

“Rodrigue gave this to me after… after the Tragedy. I think he could tell I was lost, that I needed something to hold onto, some way of cutting my own path,” Dimitri says, clearly reminiscing. 

Then he holds out the dagger to Felix. 

“It belongs to you now. I hope it will serve you as well as it has served me.”

Reverently, Felix takes the dagger from Dimitri, uncharacteristic tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t given his father enough credit for everything he’d done for him. Now it was too late. Just another regret Felix will carry for the rest of his life. And because Dimitri has an uncanny ability to read his thoughts, he ends their conversation with a final piece of advice.

“Whatever you decide to do Felix, don’t let Sylvain become another one of your regrets.”

Then Dimitri strides to the door and throws it open with all the raw strength of a Blaiddyd, the slam against the stone wall reverberating throughout the castle.

“ _Get out_ ,” the Boar snarls. “Return when you have an ounce of respect for your king’s wishes.”

This is easier for Felix than whatever emotionally vulnerable conversation Dimitri was trying to hold with him earlier.

“You’re a lunatic, _Boar_. Your wishes aren’t the only ones that matter. I’ll return when I want, or maybe I won’t. Wouldn’t you like to test your leadership skills out without me? Or do you remember what happened last time you were alone?” Felix hisses venomously. 

And then, because their argument was meant to be heard but no one is in the hallway to see, Felix reaches out and tightly squeezes Dimitri’s forearm to ease the barely concealed hurt on his face. _I didn’t mean it_ , he tries to convey. Dimitri gives him a short nod and then retreats back into his study as footsteps begin to converge on their location. Felix makes his way out of the castle, roughly pushing past bewildered and shocked servants. So much for being the Shield of Faerghus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain seduces Felix through sparring. ;)

**~Sylvain~**

Ferdinand’s rejection wasn’t a surprise, but Sylvain still feels like he’s already fucked up the plan. He doesn’t blame Ferdinand, to help them would be to accept that the Empire’s defeat is inevitable. Sylvain’s feelings about Ferdinand are… complicated. They were polite enough to each other at the beginning of the school year at the academy, but it wasn’t until after Miklan’s death that Sylvain began to feel like Ferdinand was a real friend. Knowing that someone else understood what it felt like to hate his own family was a relief. Back then, it was hard for Sylvain to talk to anyone. Ingrid, Felix, and Dimitri were all so caught up in their grief about Glenn, the Tragedy of Duscar and the resulting fallout that complaining about marriage proposals to them seemed trivial. But Ferdinand would listen. He’d make some tea and simply give Sylvain his attention until he’d gotten whatever he needed to off his chest. Sometimes they’d commiserate together, Ferdinand lamenting how his father had essentially committed treason against the Emperor. It was comforting, having someone to talk to who was not thoroughly tied up in the politics of his homeland. Ferdinand felt the same. When Edelgard declared war, it felt like a cruel twist of fate. The very thing that had made their friendship so valuable to Sylvain was also what separated them.

When Sylvain heard that Ferdinand would be at the Great Bridge of Myrrdin, he’d been sick to his stomach. Sylvain spent the entire night before the battle trying to figure out if there was a way to get Ferdinand to surrender, or if he would die defending the bridge. And if Ferdinand forced them to kill him, would it better for it to be by Sylvain’s hand? A friend who would make it as swift and painless as possible? Or would that haunt Sylvain for the rest of his days? Fortunately, Byleth saved him from answering those questions.

In the months following Ferdinand’s capture, the two of them had slowly eased back into their friendship. Sylvain would bring his food in addition to Ferdinand’s portions so they could share a meal together. It wasn’t so different than their dynamic before, if a little one-sided. Ferdinand couldn’t contribute many fascinating anecdotes under house arrest. But it was something. Sylvain remembers how they often ran into each other at the stables, swapping stories about the missions they’d recently completed. Ferdinand was fascinated by the Kingdom’s horses and how different they were from the Empire’s. Once, Sylvain had mentioned the Kingdom’s difficulty with growing food. The next day Ferdinand had shown up with an agricultural survey of Aegir territory and proceeded to teach him everything Ferdinand thought would reasonably transfer. Thanks to Ferdinand, the people of Gautier haven’t starved in the winters during the war.

Desperately, Sylvain wishes that Ferdinand didn’t have to come on this trip. Here within the confines of the castle, Sylvain and Ferdinand could be themselves. No posturing, no suspicion, no wariness. But on the mission, Sylvain can’t afford to let his sentimentality cause him to underestimate Ferdinand. He was the Empire’s highest ranking general and Sylvain had fought in enough skirmishes planned by him to know just how cunning a strategist he could be. Ferdinand is dangerous. He’s also Sylvain’s friend. Balancing those two things will be challenging.

Sylvain tries to clear his head of thoughts of Ferdinand. He has a swordsman to seduce at the moment. Sylvain nervously checks his ruffled hair in the mirror for the fifth time in the last minute and smooths down his simple tunic. They’re just going to spar, he can’t dress up too much, but Sylvain still wants to look nice. He hopes the flower this morning wasn’t too sappy for Felix. Looking down at the wrapped package lying on his bed, Sylvain prays that this venture will go well.

In all the time Sylvain’s known Felix, he’s never seen the swordsman have so much as a passing interest in anyone. It’s not that no one has tried, but Felix’s biting, sarcastic remarks usually drive them away in short order. At first, Sylvain thought it was due to Felix’s disdain for anyone he considered weaker than him. But even Byleth, a war goddess if he ever saw one, only earned Felix’s respect, not his affections. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that Felix wasn’t interested at all. Maybe it’s selfish, but it eases a bit of Sylvain’s heartache to know that if he can’t have Felix, at least no one else will either.

When Sylvain arrives at the training grounds, he carefully hides his surprise for Felix in the folds of his cloak and stashes it under one of the surrounding benches. It’s still early, so Sylvain takes his time observing the various training axes on the rack, eventually pulling a simple one down. He doesn’t need anything fancy for the plot he’s devised.

“You asked me here and I’m here.”

Felix is standing in the doorway, arms folded, a light dusting of snow creating constellations against his midnight blue hair. Sylvain notes a new dagger gracing Felix’s hip but brightens at the realization that Felix did indeed come without a sword. He looks distinctly uncomfortable without its familiar presence. Hesitantly, Sylvain holds out a hand to Felix and tilts his head in invitation. Felix’s brow creases, but after a brief pause, he strides forward and places his hand in Sylvain’s. It’s a simple enough gesture, and not even a new one for them, but without the adrenaline of battle ringing in their ears, it’s intensely intimate.

He leads Felix to the bench and sits him down. The entire time, Felix is watching him with an intense gaze, neither protesting nor entirely trusting Sylvain’s plan for him.

“Okay, close your eyes for me,” Sylvain says, genuinely excited. 

Felix cocks an eyebrow at him but obeys. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Sylvain gently places his gift in Felix’s hands.

“Now open,” Sylvain whispers. 

Wordlessly, Felix begins to undo the strings tying the paper packaging together. His mouth is pressed into a thin line of concentration but as soon as a glimpse of silver metal becomes visible, Felix suddenly looks up at him.

“You got me a sword?” Felix asks.

“Not just any sword! Go on, open it.” 

Felix’s face softens, Sylvain’s good humor infectious. The last pieces of paper fall away and Felix gasps.

“You managed to get your hands on a Sword of Zoltan? How?” Felix asks in disbelief. 

He stands holding the sword and tests a few practice swings.

“It’s perfectly balanced, and light as a feather. Zoltan’s workmanship is incredible…” he trails off in awe. 

Sylvain smiles. It’s so hard to surprise Felix. He doesn’t even like his own birthday, wriggling out of any plans that are made to celebrate.

“It was just lying in a pile of weapons an outside merchant was selling. I don’t think he knew the full value of the sword.” 

Seemingly satisfied with the way the sword feels in his hand, Felix walks back towards Sylvain.

“Syl, thank you.” Felix labors to get the words out slightly, but pushes through. 

Sylvain appreciates it. He knows Felix struggles to express himself, the gratitude is for Sylvain’s benefit.

“Anything for you, Fe.” 

And he means it. That’s the worst thing about this entire situation. For months possibly, Sylvain will have to say and do things that Felix will never believe are sincere. He hates that his next words will only solidify that impression.

“I may have tipped Ingrid and His Majesty off that we would be here. Have to play up the drama right?” 

Sylvain gives a chuckle and plasters a familiar too-wide smile on his face, the kind that does nothing to soothe the loneliness in his eyes.

“Right,” Felix replies curtly, abruptly taking on a business-like attitude. 

“Well, I came here to train and I want to see what this sword is capable of. Enough prattling.” 

Sylvain takes a moment to draw on his black magic and run his fingers over the edges of their weapons, creating a block that dulls their fatal intent. Felix looks startled when Sylvain takes up a stance opposite from him with an axe instead of his usual lance, but he doesn’t comment.

The axe isn’t Sylvain’s favored weapon, but he’s familiar enough with them from when he was learning to ride wyverns. Unfortunately, axes are also extremely vulnerable to being cleaved in half by a sword. Sylvain knows from experience that Felix is light on his feet so the usual strategy of speed and nimble footwork to overcome the disadvantages of reach are probably useless here. Not that it’s a problem. Sylvain doesn’t intend to win.

Likely tired of Sylvain’s lack of initiative, Felix swings the first blow. Sylvain dodges to the side, already on the defensive. But now his attention is fixed on Felix so the two of them circle around the boundary of the training grounds, assessing the other. Though in Felix’s case, it reminds Sylvain more of a prowl. He takes it in for a second before forcing his body back into the moment. Yes, Felix is always the most beautiful when his form is tightly coiled and tense, every muscle in his body ready to pounce on an enemy’s weakness. Yes, Sylvain would love to know what it would be like to be caught between Felix’s predatory teeth. Yes, it is entirely his fault for suggesting this activity. Well, they’re here now and there’s nothing much Sylvain can do besides desperately try to stick to the plan. The plan that would do nothing to alleviate the burning desire in his veins at the moment. _Fuck me._

This time Sylvain strikes first, trying to hook the crook of the axe around the hilt of Felix’s sword in an attempt to disarm him. But Felix parries him and quickly switches direction to hit him on his now open side. Sylvain barely manages to lean back far enough for the blade to pass in front of him, only a centimeter away. They continue on, a series of familiar steps only occasionally altered to suit an axe. At some point, Sylvain hears the doors to the training grounds creaking open quietly and some shuffling footsteps. Time to put his plan into action.

The next time Felix stabs forward, Sylvain only slightly turns his body to the side, causing the swordsman’s momentum to carry him past Sylvain and within reach. He reaches out, lightning quick as he grasps Felix’s wrist and wrenches it behind Felix’s back. Ever the more competent brawler, Felix jerks his head backwards, butting Sylvain in the face. He bites down on his tongue by accident and the harsh taste of rust fills his mouth. Sylvain jerks his head to the side and spits out a glob of blood. Alright, not the seductive move he was going for, sure, but Sylvain can work with this. 

He stumbles backward, and if it just so happens to be in the direction of one of the pillars, who can say? And then, Felix is there in front of him, driving him onward with a flurry of blows. The rap of wood on wood fills the air, only broken up by the gravel shifting beneath their feet as they strive to overwhelm each other. He can almost feel the faint whispers of air across his cheeks as Felix’s blade passes him by. Sylvain is barely able to parry them aside, distracted as he is by how close Felix’s face is to his. Normally, with a lance, their combat wouldn’t be as close quarters as this. But now, Sylvain can see the muscles tensing in Felix’s neck from the exertion, the sweat glimmering across his collarbones, can hear the soft pants escaping between his slightly parted lips. 

And, as always, Felix’s molten vermillion irises threaten to drown him in their depths. When Felix inevitably hooks a foot around his ankle, it’s almost too easily to tumble, hitting his back against the cold marble column. Its icy chill is a shock to his system, warm as Sylvain is from their sparring. The stone is hard and unyielding, grating against his spine, digging into his shoulder blades.

Felix reaches up and pins Sylvain’s right wrist above him, the one holding onto his axe still. The pressure points of Felix’s fingers are just sharp enough that it causes Sylvain some pain. But it only seems to intensify all the sensations currently short-circuiting his system. The point of the Sword of Zoltan is at Sylvain’s throat and he can see the triumphant light in Felix’s eyes. But he’s not quite out of tricks yet, so Sylvain allows a low-level Fire spell to travel down his fingertips into the hilt of Felix’s sword. It heats up and begins to glow a dull red, the magical power raising the hair of Sylvain’s neck and the edge of his sleeve singes slightly. The sudden searing sensation causes Felix’s muscles to flinch by instinct and his grip loosens just enough for Sylvain to reverse their places. 

Now it’s Felix with nowhere to go as Sylvain steps in close, too close for a simple sparring match. The burning fire caused Felix to drop his blade so both of them are disarmed now. Sylvain merely fists the collar of Felix’s shirt to press him against the pillar. Hand trembling, he lightly runs the calloused pad of this thumb across Felix’s lower lip. He can’t count how many times he’s imagined doing just this, but Sylvain is still unprepared for how soft Felix’s lips are against his rough skin. A shudder rips though the swordsman’s body and when Sylvain looks up from Felix’s mouth into his eyes, he’s startled to see Felix’s eyes wide, like he’s never been touched like this before. Which, he probably hasn’t.

In that moment, Sylvain’s heart shatters because he knows exactly what he’s going to do. It doesn’t matter what Sylvain feels. It doesn’t matter that none of this is real. That, at the end of all of this, Sylvain will just have to go back pretending to be a fool Felix can barely stand being friends with, much less love. If this is Felix’s first and possibly only opportunity to experience what it feels like to be courted, to be touched, to be _desired_ , then Sylvain will happily oblige. If only because he wants nothing more than to make Felix look like this again.

Then, the moment passes because Felix’s Crest activates, and Sylvain suddenly finds himself flat on this back. Felix is pinning him down, his weight on Sylvain’s torso making it impossible to get up. The sound of slow, mocking clapping rings out in the arena.

“Well done,” Byleth says in that calm manner of hers, but there’s teeth to it. “Only Sylvain would try to find a way to seduce an enemy into submission. I’m so happy all of my training and hard work has produced this.”

Sylvain looks over to see Dimitri and Byleth standing at the side, Ingrid behind them watching the events play out, concern and fear apparent in her expression. Dimitri pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply through his rage. Sylvain shrinks back. Even when it’s a façade, Dimitri’s bad side is terrifying to be on the receiving end of. A single ice blue eye flicks open and stares down at them. Felix quickly scrambles off of Sylvain and they both get up from the floor.

“I thought I had made myself clear on the subject of your fraternization,” Dimitri spits out.

“Your Majesty,” Sylvain says shakily and steps towards him, “I can explain.”

“There is nothing to _explain,_ Gautier.” 

He’s not Dimitri’s childhood friend right now, he’s a subject that Dimitri is bringing to heel. 

“My commands are final. The two of you are to end whatever relationship you’ve started effective immediately.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Sylvain. The Boar has gone mad as usual,” Felix states flatly, disdain dripping from his voice. 

He crosses his arms and turns slightly away as though he can’t be bothered to care about the interaction any further.

“Don’t test me, Fraldarius.”

“Or what? You’ll snap my spine with your bare hands? Wouldn’t that be a sight, the King of Faerghus murdering his right-hand man in cold blood in the capital?”

Dimitri growls at him, a low feral sound, and Sylvain blanches.

“You two are to go back to your chambers, _only_ to your respective chambers, and decide what place you want to have in this Kingdom. If you defy me again, there will be consequences.” 

Dimitri’s voice rings authoritatively, with an aura that brooks no argument.

“I’ll do what I want, Boar.” 

Felix grabs his things and stalks out of the training grounds. Sylvain stays for a moment, warily watching the group, before pulling his cloak on and following. He runs to catch up with Felix and there are footsteps behind them. Ingrid falls in at their side, bewildered by the turn of events.

“Will one of you tell me what in Sothis’ name is going on?” 

Sylvain turns to her with a pitying look.

“His Majesty thinks our seeing each other is a distraction on the field.” 

She blushes slightly and bites her lip in embarrassment.

“Well, no offense Sylvain, but that is a valid concern with you.”

“It’s not just that,” Felix says, his voice and body vibrating with anger. “Even after the war, he doesn’t want us to be together.”

“That… that doesn’t sound like His Majesty. Why…?”

“Because of our Crests, Ingrid!” Felix snaps at her. “Don’t you get it? Our borders are weak, we’re barely holding on as it is. Even if we win this goddess forsaken war it will be at a great cost. The neighboring countries will try to take advantage of it. In the Boar’s words, ‘ _We need Crest-bearing heirs that can wield Relics to secure the safety of our new nation._ ’”

Ingrid shakes her fist angrily at Felix.

“Would you stop calling him that?! You’re not helping your case Felix.” 

Felix looks at her, and this time, Sylvain can see genuine hurt on his face.

“You’re going to side with them? Don’t tell me you agree with that bullshit?” Felix asks furiously. 

Ingrid abruptly drops her hand and looks uncertain.

“Well… no but,” Ingrid starts.

“But what Ingrid?” Sylvain cuts in. “Don’t get on our case with talk about duty again. You know exactly what duty has brought the two of us. So don’t start.”

Her eyes flash with anger.

“Just because duty and honor have never been important to the two of you doesn’t mean it’s not important to me!” 

Felix sneers at her and Sylvain can’t tell if this is just for show anymore.

“If you care so much about duty, then go find a husband,” Felix scoffs. “I’m done with this. Sylvain, are you coming or are you going to let Ser Galatea here lecture you all night?”

Without waiting for an answer, Felix continues striding towards their quarters. Sylvain shoots Ingrid an apologetic glance, taking in her tear-filled eyes, before meekly trailing after Felix.

“Fe! Wait up!” Felix pauses briefly to allow Sylvain to reach him and laces his fingers through his. Sylvain is embarrassed by how much he likes that sensation, given the circumstances, but allows Felix to pull him into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand solidifies his own plan.

**~Ferdinand~**

Once Ferdinand decides he will agree to Sylvain’s mission, he desperately tries to figure out an all-encompassing solution to a continent-wide war. This is easier said than done, but he is a von Aegir isn’t he? Grand ambitions are his middle name. Assuming he’s able to convince the Empire he hasn’t turned traitor, attaining information shouldn’t be too difficult. But that’s a big assumption.

Regardless, Ferdinand is determined to get to the bottom of this dark magic business that he’s sure Hubert is wrapped up in. Hubert is a dear friend, but bless him, he’s so blinded by devotion to Edelgard that Ferdinand is convinced he would throw himself off a cliff for her. Even if it served no purpose other than to satisfy her whim. Not that he thinks that’s the case here, but still. Ferdinand is sure that Hubert is in too deep, even for him.

But more than that, Ferdinand needs to convince Hubert, and by extension, Edelgard, that the Kingdom is not really their enemy, the Church is. They both agree that the Crest and nobility system is corrupt. And they both think that the Church wields far too much power. If he can convince Edelgard of the common goals she shares with Dimitri, then perhaps this bloody war will no longer be necessary. Perhaps a peace treaty is possible… Ferdinand has to at least try.

It’s several days before it’s Sylvain’s turn to do his rounds again. Despite Ferdinand’s earlier surge of confidence, he’s suddenly struck with uncertainty that he can truly pull this off. He flutters about trying to figure out what to do with his trembling hands. Ferdinand makes his bed, a ritual that he never seemed to master at the academy, arranges his meager belongings in some orderly fashion, ties back the curtains to let light in, and far too soon he’s out of tasks. Ferdinand slouches in a decidedly ignoble fashion in his chair as he waits but his hands are still not steady. Finally, he resigns himself to resting his shaky hands in his lap and hoping it won’t be too obvious. A familiar knock comes at the door.

“Ferdinand,” Sylvain nods curtly in greeting, setting down the tray with his daily rations. 

The dark knight turns to leave, but pauses in the middle of the room, hips still twisted towards Ferdinand, seemingly struggling with himself and Ferdinand seizes the opportunity.

“Please, stay if you will. I… regret how our last conversation ended.” 

This seems to persuade him and Sylvain drops into a chair with a huff. Ferdinand observes that Sylvain’s posture and slight pout gives him a distinctly boyish look.

“I didn’t expect you to agree, I’m not mad about that.” 

Ferdinand waits for Sylvain to continue, but as the silence stretches on, it’s clear that that’s all Sylvain has to say on the matter.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. Why don’t you fill me in on the court gossip like you always do?” he gently prods. 

Sylvain is out of sorts today, something is clearly bothering him.

“Not interested,” Sylvain replies, glaring down at the wood grain on the table.

“Did something happen? I don’t mean to pry, but you seem upset. Perhaps I can lend an understanding ear?” 

Ferdinand gives him an earnest smile, the kind that Hubert always used to compare to sunshine. It twists his heart to think about the dark mage who is so sparing with his compliments that Ferdinand asked him to put it in writing.

“It’s Ingrid,” Sylvain sighs, “Felix and I got into an argument with her about… well let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. It was necessary, but I wish it hadn’t been. Now she won’t talk to us.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says with a wince. 

Sylvain looks at him sharply.

“Wait, you know about it?”

“Well… yes Ingrid mentioned it the last time she was here.” 

Ferdinand tilts his head downward, appropriately bashful. 

“I assume this has to do with the mission you discussed with me? No need for concern, I revealed nothing.”

Sylvain frowns at him, leaning forward, suspicious.

“Thanks. Though, didn’t you say you would never betray the Empire? Why are you helping us?” 

Ferdinand wrings his hands, twisting his fingers in the gloves’ material as he tries to figure out how to reply. In the end he chooses a form of honesty.

“I did say that, true. But, I swore on my House, Sylvain. I cannot in good faith, sully the reputation of House Aegir, even if I am a disgrace. And... if you insist on going through with this mission without me, your chances of survival are greatly lowered. I did not wish to decrease them further by unraveling one of your leads.”

Sylvain regards him with one eyebrow raised, his mouth twisted slightly into a smile.

“You don’t want me to die? Is that it?”

“You say that as if it’s a terrible thing to want,” Ferdinand says, thoroughly confused by Sylvain’s response. 

He’s even more surprised when Sylvain throws his head back laughing. He waits, chuckling uncomfortably until Sylvain manages to wipe away his tears of mirth.

“I’m just not used to it. I’ve broken so many hearts that often, I’m left wondering who _doesn’t_ want to murder me.”

Ferdinand takes a bite of a sandwich from the platter, attempting to cover up his simultaneous amusement and pity. It’s plain, the Kingdom is not known for an abundance of food, but hearty. A dense, dark loaf of some kind. He swallows and by then, he’s controlled himself again.

“You’re too harsh on yourself. You have plenty of friends who care about you.” 

Sylvain tilts his head in acknowledgement, but Ferdinand gets the impression that he doesn’t entirely believe him. The conversation falls away again, the two of them sitting quietly while eating. Ferdinand can tell Sylvain is studying him, appraising him. For what he’s not sure, but he desperately hopes he passes the test.

“Maybe it’s hard to believe, I’m a Kingdom general and a philanderer at that, but I care about you too, Ferdinand,” Sylvain admits, but his tone of voice is almost like a challenge, meant not to soothe but draw a reaction from him.

“And I you,” Ferdinand replies awkwardly. 

They both sit uncomfortably, trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Sylvain breaks the tension first.

“Remember that time I tried to buy you tea and accidentally gave you a bag full of oregano instead?” 

Sylvain’s eyes crinkle with amusement at the memory. Ferdinand chuckles, a ringing laugh like bells.

“Yes, that was something. Though how you mistook such a common herb for tea has always baffled me.” 

Sylvain merely shrugs. The movement causes his armor to clink softly and, not for the first time, Ferdinand wonders why he wears it all the time. Though the Kingdom is different from the Empire, feats of strength and combat are highly valued, and it’s a harsher land both in fertility and constant invasions. Ferdinand supposes it makes sense.

“What can I say? Cooking is not a specialty of mine.” 

The understatement of the year.

“Indeed,” Ferdinand says, grimacing, “I was subjected to enough of your meals in the dining hall to agree with that assessment wholeheartedly.”

“At least I never set the kitchen on fire like Annette!” 

They banter back and forth, and for a short time, Ferdinand can almost believe everything is as it was. And maybe it could be again. Not the same, no, Fódlan cannot, should not be the same after everything they’ve been through. But perhaps there is a future where this can be possible. It’s this thought that gives Ferdinand the courage to pursue his plot.

“Do you really think I can have a place after the war?” Ferdinand asks quietly, putting all of his genuine doubt and uncertainty about the plan into his voice. 

He hunches his shoulders forward in an attempt to seem small and hangs his head slightly. Don’t want to overdo it after all. Sylvain ponders long enough that Ferdinand begins to worry that he’s been found out.

“Yes.” 

It’s a short answer, but said with such faith that Ferdinand’s heart seizes with the guilt that he’s misleading a friend who truly wants nothing more than a fulfilling future for him. He startles when Sylvain puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“She can’t win Ferdinand. Between Kingdom and Alliance forces, Edelgard is outnumbered. Even with her dark magic, we can overwhelm Enbarr and end this once and for all. We just want to do it with as few casualties as possible. Don’t go down with the sinking ship.”

Ferdinand worries his lip and wrings his hands out of nervousness again, though not for the reason Sylvain thinks. It’s now or never. Either Ferdinand takes the leap or he lets the fates decide his future for him. No matter the end result, Ferdinand wants to be the one holding the reins. He is a von Aegir after all.

“I will do it.” 

And it’s such a relief to say those words, to release the bowstring tight tension that’s given him one too many sleepless nights. Ferdinand sighs like a man defeated, which, to be fair he is. But if this works, maybe he can redeem himself.

“You will?” 

Despite Sylvain having just tried to convince him moments ago, he’s gaping at Ferdinand like he didn’t really expect it to work.

 _Don’t botch this Ferdinand_. 

“It seems I have no choice in the matter, given the circumstances.”

“You do. You always have a choice,” Sylvain says firmly, fiery conviction in his eyes. “Don’t do this out of resignation. You’ll get us all killed that way. Even if you refuse, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of here.”

Ferdinand tries to swallow the lump in his throat that is threatening tears. Sylvain is a devoted friend if he ever saw one. The philandering is all a façade. The man is as gentle and kindhearted as they come. Goddess knows Ferdinand doesn’t deserve it, with what he plans to do.

“If we can end this war with fewer casualties, that’s a cause worth fighting for. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how I feel about loyalty to the Kingdom just yet, but I don’t want more people to die. Especially not you on some foolhardy half-baked reconnaissance mission into Adrestian territory.” 

That’s as honest as Ferdinand can be. He hopes it’s enough to convince the dark knight.

“Well, alright then,” Sylvain says breathlessly in excitement, “Enjoy the rest of your meal Ferdinand, I have to let the others know the good news.” 

Sylvain shoves a few last bites of his food in his mouth, drains the last of his tea before rushing out of the room with a renewed sense of purpose. As soon as Sylvain is gone, Ferdinand straightens with a similar second wind. He is the Adrestrian Empire’s Prime Minister. Present tense. Hubert would be proud of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Sylvain go to a ball.

**~Felix~**

Fhirdiad’s people are enraptured by the extravagance surrounding them. They haven’t had a reason to celebrate in a long time. The dancing hall is full of laughter, servers maneuvering through the crowd with trays of delights still hot from the oven. Aromas of steaming meats, sweet cookies, and fresh bread fill the air. Tables spread around the edges of the room promise a good time, covered with wine and champagne. Most everyone is inside due to the cold, but there are a few partygoers meandering in the courtyard outside leaving footprints in the snow. Paper lanterns hang in the central tree providing a lowlight glow. It’s all very _romantic_ in a way that makes Felix uncomfortable. It’s even worse than the White Heron Ball. There at least, there were fewer eyes on Felix, and he wasn’t planning to publicly announce treason.

Couples swirl by, like so many petals spiraling down, as Felix stands stiffly to the sidelines. He rubs the pommel of his sword to calm himself but somehow succeeds in making himself more on edge.

_Where is Sylvain? He said he’d be here a half hour ago._

“You’re looking rather dapper tonight Fe,” a voice lazily purrs in his ear. 

Felix’s breath hitches for a moment at the sound, before he relaxes and turns slightly to see Sylvain curved behind him.

“Finally, you came.” 

Sylvain hands Felix a champagne flute and clinks their glasses.

“To victory.”

“I can drink to that,” Felix replies, taking a sip.

He might need several of these to get through the evening. Sylvain reaches up and slides something into Felix’s bun, taking care not to jostle the braids Felix had added for more formality. It just barely scratches his scalp and the contact sends a shiver down his spine. Felix touches the object, feeling a figurine of some sort on a pin.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously. 

Felix isn’t opposed to hair adornments, he’d just never thought about it before.

“It’s a silver wolf pin, like the white ones we see back home. And,” Sylvain’s voice drops low and secretive, “its point is strong and sharp enough to stab someone. In case you need something discreet.”

Felix frowns, despite being pleasantly surprised.

“I didn’t get you anything.” 

_Was I supposed to bring something? Damn it._ Sylvain is always so good at this. For once in his life, Felix is jealous of Sylvain’s superior skills. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring something. That’s twice now that Sylvain has brought him a gift and he’s offered nothing in return. Felix tries not to think about the irony. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything. I just did it because I wanted to.” 

The red head rolls his eyes casually as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Felix steps back so he can turn to face Sylvain fully and take him in. The biting taunt he had ready dies in Felix’s throat. Do all of Sylvain’s lovers feel this helpless under his gaze? It’s so rare that he sees Sylvain without his armor anymore, but now he’s there in front of Felix, a velvet maroon jacket fitted across his broad shoulders, a hint of gold thread encircling the collar at his throat, silk gloves encasing his hands. Sylvain’s white chiffon dress shirt’s buttons trail down his chest before disappearing into a matching set of deep black breeches. Felix has no idea how Sylvain managed it, but somehow he’s turned his riding boots into an elegant extension of his outfit as well. He’s suddenly very grateful that Sylvain helped find him clothes for tonight. He would be criminally underdressed compared to Sylvain otherwise.

The training grounds were only the beginning. In the moment he’d leaned into his anger and disdain to play his part, not really thinking about the actions he took. Not thinking about the caress of Sylvain’s thumb across his lip, how Sylvain’s eyes were tinted dark, or why pinning Sylvain with a typical brawler’s move felt _indecent_. These actions are merely another form of combat, albeit a kind he is unfamiliar with. They serve a purpose and to that end, Felix will see it through. And yet at just the sight of Sylvain, knowing now what this task will require them to do together, something lodges in his throat.

Dimitri’s words echo in Felix’s ear. He makes it sound so easy. But Sylvain has responsibilities. He may despise the Crest system and the pressure to ensure heirs, but Sylvain would never abandon his people. They’d both spent years in this war defending their civilians. It’s the one duty Sylvain takes seriously. In that respect, he has Felix’s admiration. It’s bittersweet, though he can’t articulate exactly why. 

The dark knight bows then, one arm across his chest. “May I have this dance, Fe?” 

Sylvain extends a hand. Felix tries to remember if he’d ever seen Sylvain be so courteous to one of his passing lovers. It’s against his nature to be tender, Felix cuts through the world with all the ferocity he wields his blade with. But true swordsmanship requires grace, and with this in mind, he finishes his glass and accepts Sylvain’s invitation.

Sylvain leads them to the outskirts of the dancing couples, close enough to be seen, but far enough to give the appearance of discretion. A small tug pulls Felix against Sylvain’s chest, his left hand finding its place on Sylvain’s shoulder. There’s a gleam of hesitation in Sylvain’s eyes and then Felix is trying to control the instinctual urge to shudder as Sylvain’s hand circles his waist, pressing slightly.

Sylvain was the one to teach Felix how to dance when they were young. Every time Felix stumbled or accidentally tripped on his feet, Sylvain only laughed, comforted him, and showed him the correct steps. It’s almost too easy to fall back into that pattern, Sylvain leading once more.

Felix looks over Sylvain’s shoulder as they begin to twirl in time to the music. Ingrid is watching them with barely concealed horror. A few of their other friends glance at them quizzically, some smile. Other nobles frown as they pass by. They’re definitely attracting attention. Sylvain’s nighttime dispute with Dimitri is panning out well. He catches Dedue’s eye, the Duscar native’s expression grim as he leans down to whisper something in Dimitri’s ear. Dimitri looks up from the banquet table he’s seated at and both he and Byleth glare at the two of them with open contempt.

Felix is used to the expression from Dimitri from when he was still the Boar. But from Byleth… it’s unsettling to say the least. It’s probably not even discernable to anyone who doesn’t know her well, Byleth’s face a blank mask. But it’s there, in the slight downturn of her mouth and the tiniest furrowing of her brow. He turns back to Sylvain, unable to bear seeing her look at him that way any longer.

“The braids are a nice touch,” Sylvain muses, “I haven’t seen you wear them for a while.”

“My hair wasn’t long enough yet,” Felix says gruffly. 

“Why’d you cut it in the first place? I’ve always wondered,” Sylvain asks curiously. 

It was the day his old man told him he looked just like Glenn. As soon as he got back to his room, Felix used his dagger to cut off half his length. He’d immediately regretted it, but then, the damage was done.

“Needed a change,” Felix replies. 

_Can you say more than a few words at a time?_ Saints above, small talk is painful.

“That’s too bad,” Sylvain says regretfully.

“Why?” 

Felix tilts his head back to catch Sylvain’s eye.

“I’ve always liked it long. It makes you quite striking,” Sylvain says. 

Felix searches Sylvain’s expression for any hint of jest, and finding none, blushes a deep rose color and looks away. Briefly, Sylvain reaches up to brush a few strands that have come loose on the back of his neck. Idly, Felix wonders if they look better that way or not.

Sylvain spins him out and then back in again in time to the lilting music. It’s one of the few things about balls that Felix enjoys, though he probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone except Byleth and Annette. Sylvain’s hand is a grounding point of contact, slight pressure tugging him through the motions with all the inevitability of gravity. It feels the same way it did in the training grounds, where Felix was so sure he was the one in control of the situation only to find himself pinned against a column with Sylvain grasping his collar.

“You with me, Fe?” Sylvain whispers, warm breath down Felix’s ear. 

Locks of auburn hair brush across his cheek and Felix can see the beginnings of a flush along the lines of Sylvain’s neck.

“I’m here, Syl,” Felix murmurs back, trying to bring himself back into awareness of their surroundings, a slight buzz from the champagne making everything a little brighter. 

But Sylvain breaks his concentration and his heart is in his throat when Felix feels himself dipped toward the floor. There’s just a brief graze of Sylvain’s teeth along his collarbone and when Felix looks up at him, Sylvain has a grin on his face that Felix is all too familiar with. It’s the same grin he’s seen charming every servant girl at every establishment they’ve ever been to. Suddenly it’s overwhelming, being here, being with Sylvain, touching him, dancing with him, knowing all of his actions are practiced, routine, _insincere_. This is not the first time Sylvain has done this, it won’t be the last. He’s reeled himself in significantly since the war started, but Felix still occasionally catches Sylvain chatting up the newest recruit, eager soldiers all too pliable under the handsome noble’s hands. The last man Felix saw him with had been tall, broad shouldered and muscular. Sylvain had a type, and it wasn’t him.

Felix breaks away, breathing a little too heavily for the light strain of a waltz.

“I’m going to get some air,” he gasps slightly, then quickly makes his way towards the courtyard he loathes so much. 

At least it’s quieter. Felix snags a couple new champagne glasses and downs them like shots before putting them back on the wide-eyed server’s tray. The burning sensation down his throat helps keep the chill at bay and numb the jealousy Felix feels slowly spreading from his chest. He’s too sober for this. Felix tries to regulate his breathing, steady the pulse pounding in his ears. He hates that he feels this way, that Sylvain brings out a weakness in him he can’t crush. He must crush it though, or he’ll endanger the entire mission. Felix can’t afford to be distracted, can’t let his guard down, least of all in Empire territory while dragging Ferdinand along with them. He must stay focused and keep them alive. For Sylvain’s sake, if not his own. But his traitorous heart races even faster, adrenaline making Felix want to flee.

Felix gets about ten feet from the edge of the castle grounds before coming to a halt. He can’t flee, no matter how much he may want to. It sets his teeth on edge. Now Felix remembers exactly why he hates balls so much. He can’t slip away to train, and there’s nothing here he can hit. Eyeing the guards, Felix wonders if it would help their plot at all to get into a fight with one of them. He groans, his better half getting the best of him. It wouldn’t help and it wouldn’t be fair to whichever guard he picked. Stumbling slightly now, Felix makes his way to a secluded pond hoping he won’t be disturbed for a while. But fate has other plans.

“Oh, hello, Felix!” Annette says brightly as he enters the grove. “I was just watching the stars for a bit. They’re a little different here than back at the monastery. Have you noticed?”

Felix lies flat on his back in the snow-covered grass, trying to pick out familiar constellations Glenn told him stories about. It’s true, he supposes, there were a few he couldn’t see when they were at Garreg Mach.

“That’s the Maiden of the Wind and there’s Loog,” Felix says, pointing them out. 

Annette begins to sing the famous love ballad under her breath.

_Reach for my hand_

_I’ll soar away_

_Into the dawn_

_Oh I wish I could stay_

_I look to you_

_Like a red rose_

_Seeking the sun_

_No matter where it goes_

_Here cherished halls_

_In peaceful days_

_I fear the edge of dawn_

_Knowing time betrays_

He knows that Annette means well, but the lyrics twist his insides into a knot. Sylvain reaches for his hand often, he just never wants to stay. And tomorrow would find them making their way through the Oghma mountains in the dead of winter. Even as experienced as he and Sylvain are weathering the winters of Faerghus, the mountains are an entirely different beast. Annette must have noticed his discomfort because she stops humming to look at him.

“Is my singing annoying you?” she asks nervously.

“No that’s not it. Besides, you know I like listening to you sing,” he mumbles, trying to keep the tension in his body from bleeding into his response. 

Felix keeps his eyes pointed upward rather than looking at her. Annette grabs a stick nearby and begins to draw in the snow around him, a beaming smile on her face. He tries to turn to see what she’s doing but doesn’t have a good angle.

“All done!” Annette exclaims, tossing the stick to the side in triumph.

“What did you do?” he asks, curiosity finally getting the better of him as Felix sits up slightly to see what she did. 

Annette had traced angel wings around him into the fluffy snow.

“Now you look like the Maiden of the Wind when she fell to the earth as a star,” she says cheerfully.

“Hmph.” 

But it lacks its usual bite. Felix is never able to quite keep up his sarcastic persona around her, but his words are also coming out a little slurred. Better to restrict himself to short replies. Despite the snow crunched beneath him, his cloak is keeping him from getting soaked. Which is good because Felix doesn’t feel particularly inclined to get up and socialize with more idiot nobles vying for favor. Annette evaluates him for a moment.

“I’m going to head back inside now. Are you sure you’re going to be alright out here?” she asks worriedly. 

Felix waves her off, annoyed. He just wants to be alone.

“I’m fine. Go back to the party.” 

Annette purses her lips at him for a few more seconds before finally relenting. Felix stays behind as the world continues to slowly spin by. He stays so long that even his cloak and fur lined clothes are not enough to keep out the cold. Eventually, Sylvain finds him.

“Hey Fe, you okay?” Sylvain touches his shoulder, concern crinkling his amber eyes. “Annette told me I might find you out here.”

“Yeah,” he says gruffly, shoving the ugly emotions that rise up at the touch back down. 

But Felix allows Sylvain to pull him upright and dust the snow from him as best he can.

“I thought you were just going to get some air but then you never came back.” 

Sylvain’s voice is soft, too soft for the rage Felix feels coiling in his stomach. Gesturing at the snow, Sylvain throws a smirk at him.

“Playing angel huh?” 

He gives Felix his signature wink and Felix feels like he’s going to be sick. He tears away from Sylvain’s grasp, almost running towards the courtyard again. Sylvain follows behind calling his name but he doesn’t respond. Draping himself across the railing surrounding the central tree, Felix dry heaves but nothing comes up. Sylvain rubs soothing circles into his back until Felix regains his breath. Couples strolling the grounds are beginning to notice them, peering at him with pity, disgust, concern? He can’t quite tell with the world tilting the way it is. All Felix knows is that he hates it, he hates the way Sylvain has wrapped him into his arms comfortingly, and Felix turns to let all the awful things he wants to say spill out. 

But Sylvain’s eyes trap him like a fly in amber, and no matter how he struggles, he can’t escape. Felix stares at Sylvain, eyes flickering between Sylvain’s gaze and his lips that are far too close to his own. Sylvain must pick up on some of his conflicted feelings because his brow furrows slightly and his eyes flash with indecision.

The alcohol must be hitting his bloodstream now, because for some reason Felix thinks kissing Sylvain is a really good idea. And he can, right? Sylvain gave him permission. It’s all for this damn mission that he’s trapped in, all for the Kingdom. Maybe Felix is selfish. Sylvain will leave him when this is over, so why not steal every kiss and touch he possibly can before it all ends? Felix sways a touch before steadying himself against Sylvain.

“Um, I think you’ve had enough tonight,” Sylvain says, catching him, and he’s looking at Felix with those pitying eyes he can’t stand. 

Everything about this situation is making Felix thrum with frustration, gripping Sylvain’s shoulder a little harder than he needs to and it would be so, so easy to just tilt his head up – 

“ _Fraldarius, Gautier!_ ” 

The king’s roar startles both of them and they turn to face the enraged monarch storming towards them down the palace steps. But Felix only grips Sylvain tighter around the waist, lacing his fingers with Sylvain’s left hand. This is it, the moment they’ve been waiting for and it’s like the floor has dropped out from beneath him. There’s no going back now and it’ll just be Felix and Sylvain again like it was before, except it won’t be because Ferdinand will be there. Sylvain looks down at him when Felix clenches his hand too tight but there’s nothing but concern in his eyes. That pure expression of care from his best friend snaps Felix out of it. He loosens his grip to a reasonable intensity and it’s more deliberate now, part of the show.

“I see you’ve decided that your interests are more important than those of the Kingdom,” the Boar snarls at them.

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, _Your Majesty_ ,” Sylvain taunts and a ripple of whispers spreads through the surrounding crowd at this gross display of disrespect. 

The king takes a dangerous step towards them, murderous intent in his eyes.

“The Kingdom’s interests?” Felix laughs and the sound is slightly maniacal as he wipes tears from his eyes. “Or your interests? You’ve already taken my brother and my father from me. Will you rob me of my one chance of happiness now, Boar?” 

The alcohol is making him more honest than he meant to be. At that, the king straightens, an imposing figure, and he knows what’s coming next.

“The two of you are hereby stripped of your titles, ranks, and lands. I will decide on any further punishment tomorrow. Guards. Please take them into custody.”

Felix is separated from Sylvain and he feels metal clinch around his wrists as they’re pulled behind them. Once they’re both secure, Byleth steps forward, the Sword of the Creator drawn, and pushes them forward to get moving. The crowd parts silently before them in shock. But instead of heading towards the Fhirdiad dungeons, Byleth leads them to the guest suites where Ferdinand is held. Felix scans the hallways, but she shakes her head.

“I dealt with the guards.” 

She unlocks their manacles and opens Ferdinand’s door. Judging by his expression, it’s the first time he’s seen her since his capture at Myrrdin.

“Professor!” 

Ferdinand’s hands flutter at his sides. Byleth gives him one of her small smiles and nods her head in greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Ferdinand. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before.”

“It’s no matter, I understand,” he replies politely, but there is some warmth in his tone.

Byleth pulls saddlebags out from Ferdinand’s bed where they had been stashed for safekeeping earlier, handing one to each of them. With renewed urgency, she pushes them out into the hallway before stopping before a painting of one of the Blaiddyd ancestors. Byleth’s hands search the stones on the right side frantically, eyes flickering down the hallways, keeping watch. Finally, one presses down and the painting swings open slightly. And then Byleth is pulling Felix and Sylvain towards her. Felix is overwhelmed by the scent of… lavender? He buries his face in her hair and it’s like they’re all clinging for dear life, because they are and no one knows what’s going to happen in the next few months and this might be the last time they see her. Felix catches a glimpse of tears in her eyes before she rapidly blinks them away and steps back.

“Go! When you reach the end you’ll be beyond the city walls. There should be three horses waiting for you in the grove of trees. Stay safe, all of you. Please come back home.”

They’re herded unceremoniously into the tunnel and then the doorway shuts behind them, plunging them all into darkness. A flare of light erupts from Sylvain’s hand as he sustains a low-level fire spell. Sylvain sets his jaw in determination.

“Let’s get going.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Sylvain and Ferdinand flee Fhirdiad through the Oghma mountains.

**~Sylvain~**

They’ve been riding hard for a week, barely sleeping or eating in their haste to get to the Oghma mountains. The Professor did what she could to ensure their safe passage out of Fhirdiad, but beyond that, there was little she could do. So they avoided well-travelled roads, kept out of sight, and generally prayed they could reach the borders of the Kingdom before the might of the Faerghus army fell onto their heads. The sense of déjà vu is overwhelming; Sylvain remembers the last time he and Felix had to flee their homeland. But then is not now, as he is forcibly reminded of when he hears a curse ahead of him.

“Watch it, von Aegir! I thought you knew how to ride,” Felix snaps sharply. 

Sylvain can almost feel the waves of hostility rolling off the swordsman. Ferdinand’s steed had narrowly avoided colliding with Felix’s when it had stumbled on a stone hidden in the deep snow. They all know it’s not Ferdinand’s fault, but sleep-deprivation and hunger rarely make for rational choices.

“Apologies,” Ferdinand replies, through gritted teeth. 

Sylvain knows he’s holding himself in check because he has to, in his position, but even Ferdinand has limits to his patience. Sylvain sighs, watching the exchange. The two of them could not be more different. In fact, the only commonalities Sylvain finds between the two are their identical buns, a practical hairstyle meant to avoid snagging on low-hanging branches. Despite this, Sylvain is sure that if they could get past whatever petty prejudices they have right now, they could be friends. They are both friends of his, after all. In the meantime, though, Sylvain feels like he's herding cats.

They’re close to the base of the mountains now. The trees, once dense, are scattered now and scraggly. The ground is harder, soil giving way to exposed bedrock. They must be even more careful now, visibility stretches for miles. Part of Sylvain wants to press on until they reach their destination. But, under a new moon and with the path as treacherous as it is, continuing to travel into the night is asking for trouble. Sylvain spots a small cave in a rocky outcropping and whistles sharply to catch his companions’ attention. 

“We should make camp for the night. In the morning we’ll reach the Oghma mountains,” he says, pointing out the cave. 

Felix tsks in acknowledgement, wheeling his mount around towards the entrance. They unpack their meager belongings and make the horses comfortable. Judging by how low the sun is in the sky, they’ll have to skip lighting a fire tonight. The flames would be too bright, a beacon announcing their location in the dim moonless night. A majority of the belongings they’ve brought with them are thick furs and cloaks to keep them warm in the freezing temperatures at night. They settle in for another unpleasant rest. At least the inside of the cave is dry. Small miracles.

Sylvain allows himself a short reprieve to stretch his legs and eat some jerky. Unfortunately, with the sun setting, he can’t afford to wait any longer. He unrolls a map and tracks their route to see precisely where in the Oghma mountains they’ll reach tomorrow. Ferdinand comes to sit beside him and studies the map as well.

“I’m certain that the Empire has enough spies in the Kingdom that news of our public falling out and subsequent flight are on their way to the Emperor. That is, if they haven’t arrived already. Hopefully, that means we won’t be killed on sight,” Sylvain says half-heartedly. 

It’s not a likely scenario, but it’s plausible enough to worry Sylvain.

“It should definitely help,” Ferdinand muses, leaning over the map. 

He tracks the Oghma mountain range and taps a point just beyond it.

“If you’re planning on being caught by the Empire, Varley territory is the closest to us. Arundel is… a cruel man, I doubt you’d want to head in his direction. This way we’ll be found by Bernadetta,” Ferdinand explains.

“Not her father?” Sylvain asks quizzically. 

Ferdinand shakes his head.

“No, after Edelgard took over, her father was executed for treason. Bernadetta has been in charge ever since.” 

Sylvain remembers the shy, scared girl who wrote such wonderful stories about a flawed heroine. Then, he remembers why Bernadetta was so terrified all the time.

“Good, he got what he deserved,” Sylvain replies harshly. 

Just thinking of the late Count Varley made him nauseous. The things he did to his own daughter… For a brief moment, Sylvain is glad that Edelgard became Emperor, if only to release that poor girl from her terror. He glances up to see Felix nearby. Judging by his clenched fists, Felix’s thoughts are likely similar.

“Should we simply surrender to Bernadetta?” Sylvain asks, “or is that too obvious?”

Ferdinand thinks for a while, head resting against a hand in concentration.

“I don’t think so. You want to portray yourselves as defecting to the Empire, not trying to escape. And it would make sense that you would surrender, since you are trying to return me.”

“Right. We should probably get our story straight as well. Felix and I broke you out of your guest quarters. Prison would be more dramatic, but I think they’ll be more amenable to us if they know you were treated well,” Sylvain says thoughtfully.

“You were able to overpower the guards the Professor handed you off to, before coming to get me,” Ferdinand continues. “How long should the two of you have been romantically involved?”

Sylvain looks at Felix for some input, but the swordsman seems uninterested in participating in the planning aspect of the mission.

“A month,” Sylvain decides. “We were on the road a lot prior to retaking Fhirdiad, which would explain both Dimitri’s belief that it was affecting our capabilities in the field and why public knowledge of our relationship wasn’t widespread before. News travels slower when you’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“That part shouldn’t be too difficult, but we also need to convince the Empire that I haven’t turned,” Ferdinand adds, a little melancholic. 

Sylvain reaches over and gives the man a brief squeeze on his forearm.

“I know this is difficult for you. I’m really grateful, Ferdinand.”

“I appreciate it. But I knew what I was getting myself into when I accepted. You needn’t worry about me,” Ferdinand reassures, but he grips Sylvain’s forearm in return.

A loud scoff interrupts them.

“You’re going to trust him, just like that?” 

Felix is looking at him with disbelief.

“We need him, Fe, otherwise this whole plan is a waste of time,” Sylvain says firmly.

“It _is_ a waste of time,” Felix grumbles under his breath. 

Sylvain keeps his voice calm, even though he can feel frustration and resentment rising in his chest.

“If it’s a waste of time, why are you here, Felix?” 

Felix flinches slightly at the use of his full name. Good. He’s not the only one with barbs.

“You’re lucky I salvaged the plan at the ball, what with you wandering around the castle grounds, drunk off your ass. I’m not usually one to criticize, but I _needed_ you then,” Sylvain emphasizes, his tone sharp.

Instead of responding, Felix rounds on Ferdinand instead.

“Why are you even on this daft mission anyway? What do you get out of all of this?”

This is the most Felix has spoken all week. Ferdinand shifts uncomfortably under the sudden onslaught.

“I want to be useful again, to do _something_. There’s a war going on and I do not want to sit idly by and drink tea,” Ferdinand begins. 

Felix lets out a skeptical huff and crosses his arms.

“Really? Tea? That’s all you can talk about, even now,” Felix jabs disdainfully, before sliding down the cave wall to the floor. 

He stares daggers at Ferdinand, who looks exasperated.

“What I was going to say,” Ferdinand adds, “when you so rudely interrupted me, was that I know that the Empire cannot win anymore. They have lost the Kingdom, the Professor, and many of their forces. I used to be a general. I know _something_ about wartime strategy.” 

Sylvain sits on the sidelines with the map still open. _Should I intervene? Maybe they just need to get this off their chests._

“So, it’s convenience then. You have no loyalty to your comrades, to your country. How pathetic. You’ll likely turn on us just as easily once we reach Enbarr.”

“I want this war to be over!” Ferdinand finally shouts, pushed to his limit at last. 

He runs a hand through his now loose orange locks, pacing the cave floor. 

“I don’t want any more people to die. I’ve – I’ve become fond of… some of you.” 

At the last sentence, Ferdinand shoots a glance Sylvain’s way. The sentiment touches Sylvain, although it does not diminish how carefully he watches the Empire general for any sign that he’ll betray them. The shared glance is not lost on Felix, whose expression curdles. Ferdinand huffs and draws himself up in an attempt to look intimidating.

“I have no intention of turning you in. Sylvain offered me a choice. I did not have to come on this mission. I could have stayed behind, where I have a higher probability of surviving. But I _want_ to help. For what it is worth, I think we can succeed with this plan, as ridiculous as its premise is.”

Felix watches Ferdinand as the latter deflates slightly from the emotional toll of his outburst. Sylvain gapes at the rare sight of Ferdinand losing his composure. But Felix barely budges.

“Just make sure you do your part,” Felix warns. “Get some rest, von Aegir, you’re going to need it tomorrow. Your southern blood has never faced a winter here.” 

Felix doesn’t sound too concerned about Ferdinand’s well-being, but at least they’re not yelling. Ferdinand seems to recognize the statement as an olive branch and nods his head in acknowledgement before slipping to the back of the cave.

Sylvain finds a patch of rocky ground by the cave entrance that looks marginally more comfortable than the rest. He draws a heavy fur cloak made of wolf pelts around him, taking first watch. An hour passes and Sylvain watches as the light dims from the sky before Felix stirs. Light footsteps sound and then Felix hunkers down next to him.

“You need your rest, Fe,” Sylvain says quietly, trying not to wake Ferdinand.

“Can’t sleep,” Felix says curtly. “I’m too restless.” 

Sylvain rolls his eyes.

“Only you could still be restless after the week we’ve had.” 

Felix huffs and draws his arms tighter around his knees.

“I’m not _pleased_ about our mission exactly,” Felix starts gruffly, “But… at least…” 

Felix trails off, staring intently into the darkness. Sylvain waits a beat, thinking Felix is going to continue, but he remains silent.

“At least?” Sylvain urges. Then, more gently, “Fe, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m glad it’s you,” Felix finally says. 

He still doesn’t look at Sylvain. There’s a painful prickling in Sylvain’s chest. Felix’s words from the king’s study still haunt him. _The idea that he would defect for my love is utterly unthinkable._ Oddly enough, that statement hurt far worse than the following insults. Felix said it with such conviction. The fact that his best friend believes that about him... Well, never let it be said that Sylvain isn’t a good actor. But now, Felix is saying he’s glad he’s on this mission with Sylvain. Sylvain wonders if Felix will feel like that in the morning, or if the night is making him more generous than normal.

“Sure, sure.” 

Sylvain lets the words slide off his back, trying not to give them power over him. But that elicits a response from Felix. He turns fully until he’s facing Sylvain, eyes narrowed. Felix’s blue-black hair flows down his neck, around his shoulders, down his back like spilled ink. The contrast seems to make Felix’s pale face glow by comparison.

“That’s all?”

“What do you want me to say, Felix?” 

Sylvain meant it to come out more evenly, but he can’t entirely dispel the edge in his voice.

“I don’t know! Anything.” 

Felix throws his hands up in the air. Sylvain watches him, not trusting himself to speak, but Felix tires of waiting.

“Forget it. I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when it’s my shift.” 

Felix goes to get up but Sylvain catches his hand, pulling him back down. It’s become far too easy to simply reach out for Felix’s hand after the events of the past few weeks.

“You didn’t seem glad when we talked to Dimitri and Byleth.”

“Oh.” 

At least Felix has the decency to look embarrassed.

“S’alright,” Sylvain throws out casually with his signature charming smile. “I have a reputation to maintain after all.”

“Why?” Felix hisses at him. “Why do you want people to think so little of you?”

“You know why.” 

And this time it’s Sylvain glaring at Felix.

“If this is about –“

“I have no interest in marrying some random woman and pumping out Crest-babies.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Sylvain! You don’t have to resort to this – this,” Felix waves his hand around generally, unable to articulate exactly what irritates him. “You have control over your own life.”

Felix’s voice is harsh, but Sylvain detects a note of earnestness as well. Sylvain laughs hollowly in spite of it.

“Tell that to my old man. Somehow, even in the midst of war, even if we’re in a muddy shithole in the middle of nowhere, his messengers manage to find me to deliver a fresh stack of marriage proposals.”

“Leave then. Drop the name of Gautier.”

“You know I can’t do that Felix. I can’t abandon my people. Not after everything we’ve been through.” 

For six long years, Sylvain has waged war, protecting the civilians in Gautier territory from Imperial incursions, bandits, and all manner of dangers. He’s visited every village, every town. The battalions that fight by his side are loyal to him. Sylvain will try his best to avoid an arranged marriage, but if it’s a choice between his territory or his freedom, Sylvain will pick his territory every time.

“You’re a better man than me, then,” Felix says quietly. 

“You’d leave?” Sylvain asks, surprised, “You said so yourself that your father was mad to leave the estate to your uncle.”

Felix sighs heavily.

“You’re right. Back at the academy, when I came to my father’s aid to protect those villagers, I didn’t do it for the Aegis Shield. The civilians’ lives were all that mattered.”

Felix has always been shorter than Sylvain, but looking at him now, Felix seems small. Curled in on himself. Uncertain. It’s jarring.

“What do you want for your future?” Sylvain asks curiously.

Felix rarely talks about it, if at all. He’s always so focused on what’s in front of him at that moment. Felix’s eyes flick up to meet his and Sylvain’s heart wrenches. _Am I in your future, Fe?_ Felix opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. Minutes pass as Felix decides what he wants to say. He tries again.

“I’ve worked for so long to become stronger. At first, it was to become better than Glenn. Now it’s so I can protect everyone I care about, protect myself. But what place does strength have in a peaceful future?”

Sylvain watches Felix with concern.

“Does that make you happy though?”

Felix’s brow furrows.

“I enjoy swinging my sword, sparring, and fighting to some extent, though I wouldn’t say I enjoy killing.”

“That’s not the same thing as happy, Fe. When we were young, you used to be so… carefree. After your brother died, everything changed.”

Felix scowls and Sylvain worries he’s said the wrong thing again.

“A lot changed after my brother died. And not just me.”

“I’m just trying to help. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

Felix faces away from him again, the darkness making it difficult to make out his expression.

“Hmph.”

At first, Sylvain is willing to let him be, but after a while, he notices Felix is shivering. The idiot hadn’t brought his blanket with him and his fur-lined clothes aren’t enough at night. Sylvain holds open his heavy cloak.

“Come here, Fe. I know you’re cold.”

Felix glares at him, but after another shiver wracks his body, he relents. Felix ducks under Sylvain’s arm and Sylvain wraps the cloak around them both. They used to do this all the time as kids. Felix, Dimitri, Ingrid, and him would all visit each other’s estates for months at a time. Whenever Felix had a nightmare, or got into a fight with Dimitri, he’d slip into Sylvain’s room. The two of them would curl up together until Felix fell fast asleep in Sylvain’s arms.

It’s a similar feeling now, Felix’s warmth pressed against his side, head tucked into his shoulder. The silence stretches, but it’s peaceful, not tense. Occasionally, Sylvain catches the sounds of Ferdinand’s light snores in the background. The icy wind whistles through the rocks and boulders outside. After a time, Felix’s breathing becomes even. Sylvain is motionless, not wanting to move and wake Felix. Sylvain’s whole chest aches, wishing they could fall asleep together like this every night. It’s painful even, because he wants more than this too. Sylvain wants to be the one to undo the tie holding Felix’s hair, to ease the knots from his shoulders after a long ride, to trail soft kisses along his jaw.

It’s so rare that Felix allows himself to be vulnerable. Even if it’s unintentional in this case. Unconsciously, Felix shifts to curl himself even further around Sylvain. Sylvain freezes, but Felix remains asleep, so he relaxes, at least, as much is possible. But with his arm wrapped around Felix, Felix’s long hair brushing his collarbone, it’s difficult for Sylvain to focus on watch duty.

Sylvain yearns to press his nose into Felix’s hair, hold him closer, but more than that, Sylvain wishes he could make Felix happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do. The last time Miklan tried to kill Sylvain, he left him on a mountainside in the middle of winter. Felix was so distraught afterward, he’d begged Sylvain to make him a promise. That they’d stick together, until they died together. Initially he’d agreed just to calm Felix down; he’d been sobbing all night when Sylvain was finally found and brought in to recover from hypothermia. But as they grew older, the promise had taken on new meaning. First, to rekindle their friendship at the academy. Then to keep them both alive during the war. He desperately wishes it could mean something else afterward as well.

But the moment passes. Felix slid a little too far down Sylvain’s chest and jerks awake. Sylvain pulls away, giving Felix space.

“Have a nice nap?” Sylvain teases.

Even in the dim lighting, he can tell Felix is blushing.

“Thank you, for… letting me sleep. I haven’t gotten much rest lately.”

They both get up to stretch, having sat in the same position for too long.

“Go rest, Sylvain. I’ll keep watch now.”

Sylvain wearily tucks himself into his bedroll, trying not to think about how cold it feels compared to Felix’s heat. _Tomorrow, we’ll reach the mountains._ At least then they won’t have to worry about people tracking them as much. It’s all his brain is able to coherently piece together before he drifts off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party travels to Varley. Ferdinand remembers his life in Enbarr and advises Felix.

**~Ferdinand~**

Felix was right. His southern blood is not meant to weather this abominable cold. Ferdinand cannot remember exactly how long they have been travelling through the mountains, but it feels like a lifetime. Even with the coats and fur-lined clothes they gave him, his teeth chatter relentlessly. Normally, Ferdinand would strike up a conversation to pass the time, but the howling frigid wind in this damned ravine makes that nearly impossible. The sheer walls of the passage are so steep that snow can barely cling to its face. There is no vegetation here. With little else to distract him from the almost painful numbness of his hands and feet, Ferdinand tries to work out the kinks in his plan.

First of all, he needs to cooperate with Sylvain and Felix. They are most concerned with learning information regarding the Empire’s use of dark magic, which lines up well with Ferdinand’s interests. The more information he has access to, the better. To propose a peace treaty, a continent-wide pact, Ferdinand is going to need all of his cunning. Stars, he wishes Hubert were here with him. He has a better head for this. Strategy, Ferdinand is well-versed in. The espionage aspect is more unfamiliar.

Sylvain gave Ferdinand an idea of the Kingdom’s intentions, but he needs more than a vague outline to present to Edelgard. No, to persuade Edelgard away from her war path, he must have genuine proof that the Kingdom views the Church of Seiros as an enemy as much as she does. In a way, this ruse Dimitri and the Professor devised plays directly into his hands. Who better to convey the Kingdom’s dissatisfaction with the Crest and nobility system than Sylvain and Felix? And as the king’s most trusted advisors aside from Byleth, their words will carry more weight. But they will never divulge such information willingly. There is too little trust between the Kingdom and the Empire for the two generals to believe that the information will not be used against them, possibly to fracture the Kingdom’s already shaky alliance with the Knights of Seiros. Without their trust, Ferdinand fears they will cling to an admirable, but fruitless loyalty that will get them killed. To that end, Felix is the main obstacle.

Felix is protective of Sylvian, he’s noticed. It tracks; they are hopelessly in love with each other after all. Unfortunately, this also means he views Ferdinand as a threat, one that Felix believes Sylvain is blind to. He needs to convince him that he means them no harm. At least in this respect, Ferdinand can tell them the truth. Sylvain should be easier to convince, given his history with Ferdinand. Additionally, Ferdinand knows that Sylvain agreed to go on this trip because he truly believes it will save lives. If Ferdinand can convince Sylvain that this peace treaty will achieve that and more, he has a decent shot of winning the man over.

For the second part of his plan, Ferdinand has to win Hubert over. Anxiety grips him at the very thought, causing his horse to startle before continuing to plow through the snow blanketing their path. Thank goodness for shaggy Kingdom steeds. His personal mount with its glossy sheen would be useless in these conditions.

Ferdinand sighs. He’s going to have to lie to Hubert. It will likely ruin the fragile friendship Ferdinand gently coaxed from parched earth. The two of them spent the entirety of their academy life at odds, with vehement disdain for each other. It was only after the beginning of the war that they began to recognize the unique skill sets the other possessed, and even later, that they came to respect each other. Now they are friends, close ones, Ferdinand hopes, though he does not know Hubert’s mind on the subject. He does know, however, that Hubert must be kept in the dark for the time being. Without a complete plan to hand to Her Majesty, Hubert will reject him outright and Sylvain and Felix will go to their deaths. Lying is for the best, and yet… There are so few people Hubert grants the honor of his trust. Ferdinand can set aside his own feelings, but to betray Hubert like this, to cause him pain, is almost more than Ferdinand can bear.

Ferdinand is realizing that his plan involves rather a lot of lying to people and then asking for their trust. If, _if_ , Ferdinand manages to convince Hubert, then his support will be indispensable. There is no one whose opinion Edelgard holds more highly. Hubert, with his single-minded devotion to Her Majesty, supporting the idea of a peace treaty will force Edelgard to at least listen.

All that remains, once he’s scaled the myriad mountainous obstacles in his way, is to convince Edeglard and Dimitri, possibly Claude at a later date, to sign a peace accord and form an alliance. Fódlan needs more unification. The lack of bonds between the Empire, the Kingdom, and the Alliance is what led to the start of this war to begin with. Despite having similar goals, Dimitri and Edelgard find themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield, unwilling to hear the other out. But together, they could root out the Church of Seiros more effectively than alone in the aftermath of a destructive war.

The path will be difficult, but Ferdinand firmly believes it is possible.

_You’ve really cut your work out for yourself this time, haven’t you?_

The more intricate details of his plan occupy him so much so that he doesn’t notice that they’ve left the ravine until Sylvain and Felix have already halted. The path opens up into a winding trail zig-zagging down the mountainside. There’s a clearing in the trees ahead of them. They can see it now, the end of their long flight. Varley territory, greener than anything in winter had a right to be.

Now that the path is wider and the wind has died down to a gentle breeze, Sylvain brings his horse alongside his.

“You holding up okay Ferdinand? I could hear your teeth chattering from a mile away,” Sylvain teases.

By contrast, Sylvain seems quite at ease, almost relishing the cold despite the pink tinging his cheeks and nose.

“It was merely the clink of my lance against my sword,” Ferdinand says.

Sylvain and Felix saw fit to return his weapons to him after they were almost eliminated by a bandit stronghold they stumbled upon. Thankfully, Felix had been scouting ahead and was able to give them some warning.

“You can’t fool me, Ferdinand. I carry a lance too.” Sylvain smirks at him.

“Humans were not meant to live in these conditions. You cannot convince me otherwise,” Ferdinand grumbles.

Even Garreg Mach had at times grown too cold for the Black Eagles, despite having fairly mild winters.

“Hah, you should see the winters back at my home in Gautier. Less altitude but monstrous snowstorms.” Sylvain grins easily.

“Yes, you are really selling the place,” Ferdinand says dryly, “I had intended to visit after graduation with you before… well, before the war.” 

His voice is softer by the end. Ferdinand had intended to do quite a lot of things before Edelgard’s surprise invasion disrupted everything. He was still set on surpassing Edelgard. He still wanted to confront his father and take on the mantle of the von Aegir house. He wanted to travel, bring back new ideas to Adrestia from Brigid, Albinea, Morfis and beyond. Ferdinand doesn’t blame Edelgard for upending his life so thoroughly, but he wonders what his life might have looked like all the same. A future where his hands weren’t stained with blood, where all of their hands weren’t stained with blood.

There’s an awkward pause before Sylvain punches him lightly on the arm.

“Well, maybe you’ll have a chance yet! Besides, you’re young, handsome, a noble, and an eligible bachelor. Maybe that will satisfy my father’s standards?” Sylvain says suggestively.

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow at Sylvain’s antics. It amazes him how Sylvain manages to turn even the most mundane topics into a flirtation.

“Aren’t Crest-bearing heirs the main concern your father has? I’m certainly in no position to offer you those. At least your father didn’t participate in a coup against his Emperor.”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck apologetically.

“True. Well, you can’t choose your blood family. But other family,” Sylvain looks ahead, Ferdinand follows his gaze to Felix up ahead, “can be even more important.”

“I know the feeling,” Ferdinand replies, thinking about all the people he left behind and is now returning to.

Sylvain’s voice pulls him back as he says quietly, “We’re really doing this huh?”

Ferdinand tries to give him a reassuring smile, but his own anxiety about everything spoils it slightly. They have a plan and he has his own, but can they truly be prepared for everything they’re about to face?

“An unlikely trio if I ever saw one, but I suppose we are.”

Sylvain snorts with laughter.

“No, I’m certain the most unlikely trio was Dedue, Lysithea, and Flayn winning the academy baking contest. I mean, they beat Mercedes! She’s so good I thought she didn’t even need a team.”

Ferdinand remembers the contest fondly. Unfortunately for the Black Eagle House, only Bernadetta showed any real talent for kitchen creations. But she absolutely refused to leave her room to participate.

“The stakes are rather a bit higher in our case.”

Sylvain’s smile fades a bit but doesn’t leave.

“But just think if we succeed. This war can finally be over, as quickly and as painlessly as possible. That’s worth it, right?”

Ferdinand bites back a sharp retort. It would most likely be his countrymen that would suffer the greatest losses if the Kingdom won, not Sylvain’s. But perhaps Sylvain also means that fewer Imperial troops would have to die to secure their victory. Which is something, he supposes.

“This war has gone on too long. I would do anything to bring it to an end.”

It’s honest, too honest if Sylvain looks carefully. The dark knight doesn’t seem to quite know what to do with that, appraising Ferdinand for a moment. But Sylvain finally lets the statement pass without comment. Underneath Sylvain’s carefully crafted easygoing good-for-nothing attitude, the man is intelligent and calculating. How else would he always know what to say to get someone to open up, to trust him so easily? Ferdinand feels like he has to be even more cautious around Sylvain than Felix at times. Sylvain’s knack for manipulating emotions is dangerous.

“We’ll get there Ferdinand, I promise.”

With that, Sylvain urges his steed forward a bit, bringing him abreast with Felix. Ferdinand watches the two of them from behind, their heads slightly inclined to each other as they share a private conversation. They orbit around each other, two bodies moving together through space and time. Even the slightest shift in one causes course correction from the other. Ferdinand wonders if they’re even aware of it, or if they have been in this routine so long that it’s subconscious. It brings to mind his own routines with Hubert. Tea and coffee together in the morning over the latest reports. Maybe a game of chess in their rare moments of free time.

_“You have everything you need? I’ve labelled some basic antidotes you might require in the field as well as which poisons they counteract. Ladislava is a seasoned commander. I’m sure you both will be victorious at Myrrdin – “_

_“Hubert, please, you’re working yourself into a frenzy. It’s unlike you to be so concerned.”_

_Ferdinand smiles watching Hubert flutter around his room like a sparrow, unsure where to land. Hubert brings himself up short then, adopting his typical, intimidating stance. He looks up at Ferdinand, a sneer on his face, though it doesn’t quite reach his piercing green eye. At least, that’s what Ferdinand imagines he sees._

_“It is my duty to ensure that Her Majesty’s valuable assets remain alive. Please, for the Empire’s sake, do return in one piece if you can manage it.”_

_Ferdinand lets out a ringing laugh, the kind the Professor always said would make a pegasus dance for joy. A small pang hits his chest. It is likely Ferdinand will be facing the Professor at the Great Bridge of Myrrdin. It’s also no doubt the reason Hubert is so uneasy. This battle will not be like the smaller skirmishes of the last few years. After Imperial troops broke into Garreg Mach Monastery under the Emperor’s banner, the Kingdom quickly fell into chaos, and the Alliance retreated into an isolationist position. But now, with the Professor’s miraculous resurrection, their foes are united once again, a force to be reckoned with._

_“Do not worry, my friend. I will be back before you know it.”_

_Ferdinand says it with confidence, as he does everything. The world is his to claim if only he has the courage to reach out and grasp it. But Hubert’s complexion is pale, even paler than usual and they both know it’s not a promise that Ferdinand can guarantee. He must protect the bridge at all costs. Even if he must fall to do so. The Great Bridge of Myrrdin is a vital entry point to the Empire. If they lose this position, not only will the Empire be vulnerable to attack, but they will lose any opportunity to gain support from Alliance nobles._

_Ferdinand should say something, something he’s wanted to say for a while, but it was never the right time to do it. Too many enemies to crush, too many spies to root out, too much rebuilding to do in the Empire. Hubert begins packing various vials and bottles, Ferdinand hasn’t the faintest idea what they do, carefully into his saddlebags so they don’t break on the journey. His long, slender fingers deftly wrap away the tiniest pieces of glassware and it’s hard to imagine how those hands are capable of such delicacy and such violence. War changes things, places, people. In the chaos, one clings to whatever they can to soldier on. Ferdinand deeply wishes he could cling to Hubert’s hands. The words rise into his throat, on the tip of his tongue about to be released –_

_“You should get going, it would not do to arrive late for the confrontation. After all, the Great Bridge of Myrrdin is on the border of Aegir territory.”_

_Hubert offers him a slight smirk before depositing Ferdinand’s saddlebags into his arms. He gathers the remainder of his belongings and heads down to the stables. Hubert accompanies him the whole way, though Ferdinand is sure there are other responsibilities more pressing than sending him off. It’s crowded there, a whole host of soldiers that Ferdinand and Ladislava will lead to the bridge. It will take a week to arrive but the energy in the air is already tense, buzzing with anticipation. They’re all eager to avenge General Randolph._

_Ferdinand barely has a moment to breathe before he’s overwhelmed by a deluge of requests, updates, and all manner of nuisances as he tries again to tell Hubert the most important thing he has ever wanted to tell someone. But they’re separated by a sea of people and General Ladislava is ordering them to move out. It’s too soon, he’s running out of time. Desperately, Ferdinand looks out, trying to catch a glimpse of the Emperor’s shadow, whose shade he could spend an eternity sitting under. Cavalry and foot soldiers jostle him, bottlenecked at the gate._

_There! A glimpse of black and violet trimmings at the edge of the crowd before Ferdinand catches Hubert’s gaze. His bright emerald eye peering out beneath dark tousled bangs. Time slows and the noise fades for a moment. All that remains is a shared glance attempting to speak the volumes of unsaid things Ferdinand holds in his heart. Hubert gives a small bow of farewell and time resumes its normal pace. They march on to Myrrdin._

That was the last time Ferdinand saw him. It’s never the right time is it? The fates are surely enjoying the torment they’ve heaped upon him, to make his current circumstances the ones in which he’ll reunite with Hubert once more. Sylvain and Felix are still talking ahead of him, about what he couldn’t care less at the moment. Ferdinand envies them, longing for the days in which his life was much simpler because of the man he had at his side. He rides on in silence behind them with a heavy heart.

It's not until they reach Varley proper that Ferdinand’s spirits lift again. He had missed the Empire. Felix and Sylvain ditch their Kingdom colors for simple clothing, nondescript. For all intents and purposes, they look like a few well-armed commonfolk, maybe mercenaries. Any suspicion their appearance might arouse seems to melt away in the face of Sylvain’s easy smiles and charm.

When they reach the next town, it’s almost too easy for the handsome flirt to get the local stable boy blushing while he asks them what their business is. Ferdinand can’t decide what was funnier, Sylvain’s antics or Felix’s desperate attempts to control his jealousy. He didn’t know the raven-haired swordsman had it in him. Felix always exudes this standoffish aura that seems especially allergic to emotional or flowery displays. Unless of course, if Sylvain is the one doing it. Ferdinand watches Felix’s face become steadily redder until he finally decides to take pity on him. They’re a little behind Sylvain and the stable boy but Ferdinand still speaks softly.

“No one is stopping you from seeking Sylvain’s affections besides yourself.”

Felix almost jumps out of his skin.

“What the hell are you talking about, von Aegir?”

He fixes Felix with an exasperated eye.

“You may think me a fool, but I am not blind. In the Empire, you are one of the most feared Kingdom warriors. What are you afraid of?”

Felix refuses to respond and Ferdinand falls quiet as they ride on, the stable boy waving them forward. The village is set at the divergence of the two main rivers here. Abundant water and ingenious irrigated terraces make the most of agriculture in the valley. They pass a quaint town square with a small fountain. Clotheslines hang across buildings, drying garments waving in the wind like flags. Small vegetable and herb gardens hang over windowsills, a strong scent of rosemary in the air. A chapel building stands near the town center, but children spill out as it reaches midday. _Renovated into a school,_ Ferdinand muses. Villagers say hello as they ride by, on their way to their trade or to their fields. It’s only once they’re riding through acres of vineyards that Ferdinand remembers that Varley makes some of the Empire’s best wines. Felix finally speaks.

“Bernadetta got me drunk once off of a Varley port. It was the first time she spent any time with me without running off and locking herself into her room. She said something about how being tipsy made me less scary.”

Felix doesn’t turn towards Ferdinand while he’s speaking, only looks forward along the road. It’s a funny image in Ferdinand’s head, the young hot-headed teenager Felix used to be, slurring his words and passing a bottle of liquid courage back and forth with Bernadetta, of all people.

“I fought her at Gronder Field. She almost disarmed me with that flailing move she does sometimes. I managed to sever her bowstring but I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. It’s silly, but I didn’t want her to die in some big, open field. The center hill went up in flames and it was easy for me to ‘accidentally’ let Bernadetta go. Petra helped her escape on her wyvern.”

“You were merciful,” Ferdinand murmurs.

“The Professor was merciful. I was afraid.”

_Pale green eyes catch his across a stone bridge. Between them lie several battalions of soldiers, as well as a contingent of cavalry. Byleth’s blade seems to follow an otherworldly flow as she moves her body to face each new opponent, always at just the right time, uncannily predicting every attack. It’s in stark contrast to the roar erupting from Dimitri as he deals death to his enemies with equal parts skill and brute force. Imperial soldiers fold in Dimitri’s wake like grass flattened by a hurricane. Byleth kills more gracefully, bodies slumping down as though they were only sleeping. A pair of ghosts risen from the dead to haunt the Imperial army just as they are on the cusp of victory._

_Flaming arrows rain down from above, scattering Ferdinand’s forces. He’s almost thrown from his horse by the gambit. He curses his own stupidity for not moving his battalion out of range of Byleth’s archers. Shouting orders, the remnants follow his lead to cut off the pincer attack that Byleth is setting up to trap Ladislava. Cold fear grips Ferdinand as he’s forced further and further back on the thin ledge of stone connecting the side barracks to the main gate. If they were facing a normal enemy, the bottleneck would work to their advantage. As it is, Byleth waves her reinforcements back and steps onto the narrow pathway to face him. Her mint green hair is pulled back and there are a few tears in her light leather armor, patches of her padded tunic are crimson. Still, she is a formidable opponent. Not for the first time, Ferdinand wonders how the war would have gone had the Professor chosen to side with the Black Eagles._

_“Edelgard has always been obsessed with you. I thought she was mistaken to harbor hope that you might still be alive after all this time. But it seems I underestimated you.”_

_Even now, seeing her in the flesh, Ferdinand can hardly believe Byleth is alive. His Professor, his role model, and his friend. He wishes that their reunion could have been different. In another life, perhaps they would have caught up over a cup of tea. He once despaired to her that he feared he would never achieve anything of note. All of Ferdinand’s training and hard work and still he flails about, going nowhere, contributing nothing._

_“You’ve grown well. I wish I could have been there to see it.”_

_Regret tightens his throat. She had not forgotten her promise to bear witness to his accomplishments. Byleth’s Sword of the Creator hangs defensively at her side, not yet pointed at him. Her mouth twists slightly in that subdued way Ferdinand has come to understand as sorrow. She does not raise her voice but still it rings clear across the gap._

_“I hoped that Edelgard would have abandoned this madness while I slept. She’s already destroyed the Church. The monastery is in ruins. Lady Rhea is missing. There is nothing left. Why do you keep fighting?”_

_“Even in the absence of the Church, Crests and nobility would still linger. They are a rot that must be cut out. Or do you deny this Professor?”_

_“It is not worth this many lives. You told me once that a noble’s duty was to the commonfolk. How many commoners have died in this war of hers while she maintains a queue of nobles to command them?”_

_Ferdinand has no reply, merely presses his lips into a thin line while his heart races with adrenaline._

_“We don’t have to do this Ferdinand. Surrender. Please.”_

_He turns to look behind him. Ladislava is still managing to keep the enemy at bay. They’ve already sent a messenger to Edelgard. If they can hold out for a day, perhaps reinforcements would come. Ferdinand shakes his head._

_“Even if I die, I must protect this area. I hope you will not think ill of me.”_

_Byleth bows her head and takes a deep breath._ _He must rally his troops or all is lost. With a cry, Ferdinand charges forward, steadying his lance as he makes his first pass. On the narrow pathway, there is nowhere for Byleth to sidestep so she is forced to duck beneath his blow. Faster than lightning, her wrist flicks and the Sword of the Creator extends, wrapping around his weapon and yanking him off his horse. Ferdinand lands on his back hard, all the air knocked out of his lungs. He rolls to the side to avoid Byleth’s next attack and sparks fly from her blade as it scrapes against the cobblestone in an ear-piercing shriek. Quickly scrambling up, Ferdinand sweeps his lance forward to create some space between them. But he’s so focused on her sword attacks that Byleth’s Fire spell comes as a surprise. If it weren’t for his holy knight resilience, the battle might have ended then and there. Instead, his shoulder is singed, serious but not fatal. Ferdinand staggers back towards Ladislava’s battalions, barely able to parry Byleth’s might with a wounded arm. When Byleth finally disarms him, Ferdinand knew it was inevitable. His back is pressed against a column, the Sword of the Creator uncomfortably digging into his throat. Ferdinand swallows heavily._

_“Yield.”_

_He closes his eyes and thinks about a different pair of green eyes, white gloves, and a black cape. The words he wanted to say will go with him to the grave. Perhaps it is better that way. It almost seems cruel to tell Hubert that he loves him right before he dies. When Ferdinand opens his eyes again, the Professor is still gazing at him waiting for an answer._

_“I cannot.”_

_The moment the words leave his mouth, Ferdinand can see the shift in Byleth’s expression. It’s so fast if he blinked, he might have missed it. Her lips part and her eyes widen and for a second, Byleth is struck by fear. Ferdinand can feel it in the tremble of the blade against his skin. Then it’s wiped away and Byleth’s Ashen Demon mask is firmly back in place. He looks into her eyes, unwilling to show cowardice at the end. Byleth pulls her weapon back for the final strike. Ferdinand holds his breath. But in a flash, Byleth flips the sword in her grasp. He catches sight of the pommel of the Sword of the Creator out of the corner of his eye and then darkness._

“The Professor was afraid too.”

Felix looks at him sharply.

“What?”

“When the Professor took me captive. I refused to yield and I could see in her eyes that she was afraid to kill me. The Professor is the strongest woman I’ve ever known, second only to maybe Edelgard. I don’t think she regrets her decision. Do you?”

Felix stares down at his right hand, flexing his fingers as if to test what they’re capable of.

“No.”

“Then stop second-guessing yourself. As luck would have it, we will need to be in Bernadetta’s good graces soon. Your mercy may be what gets us to Enbarr.”

The vineyards are starting to peter out as they continue down the road. A modest estate is beginning to become visible at the end. As they make their final approach, Ferdinand decides to give Felix one more gentle push.

“If you are honest with Sylvain, I doubt you will regret it.”

The raven-haired swordsman immediately pulls back, his face falling into a familiar scowl and gripping his reins. But Ferdinand merely glances towards Sylvain meaningfully. The dark knight is whistling cheerfully and at that moment turns to smile at Felix. Despite Felix’s scowl, Ferdinand can see the twitch of a smirk fighting to break through. Sylvain winks and Felix’s walls crumble. He blushes and looks down with a small grin. The dark knight throws his head back in heartfelt laughter and then he’s beckoning Felix forward so he can lace their hands together.

Together, they make their final approach to the Varley main gate.

“We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adapted some of Lorenz's dialogue from the Great Bridge of Myrddin for Ferdinand because he has some good lines. Also, Ferdinand is definitely just playing wingman.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix confronts Bernadetta and struggles to maintain his lovestruck persona 24/7. Reaching Enbarr brings new dangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter became an absolute monstrosity. Going forward I think my chapters will be longer than before. Hope you all enjoy. :)
> 
> Points for whoever spots the Hamilton reference!

**~Felix~**

_The Professor was afraid too._

According to Ferdinand anyway. And yet, despite Felix’s better judgment, he believes the holy knight. He doesn’t know what to do with the revelation. Fear is a constant companion in war, but he can’t let it control him. Hesitation on the battlefield is a surefire way to get himself killed. Felix cannot afford to be merciful, no matter how much he may want to.

Even as Felix repeats the words in his head, they sound hollow. Bernadetta’s – tear- and dirt-streaked face twisted in terror at the sight of him – burns in his memories. She had been scrambling back on her hands after she tripped in her desperation to escape him. Still, he loomed over her, trying to convince himself to strike. Felix couldn’t bring himself to do it. Guilt trickles ice cold down his back.

_I was weak. I let an Imperial commander live to kill my kin another day._

But he had seen that face smile because of him. They had spent warm afternoons watching cute cats doze in the sun, trading interesting books, trying supposedly unsweet candies under duress. It was impossible not to be charmed by Bernadetta’s efforts to brighten his spirits. To see her face transformed by true fear, as Felix fulfilled all her worst nightmares of him, was gutting. Ferdinand was right. He doesn’t regret sparing her.

Felix had so few friends at the Academy besides Sylvain and Ingrid. Even now he struggles against his reflexive impulse to keep people at a distance. But Bernadetta chipped her way through his defenses and now he finds it impossible to shut her out again. He’s killed so many people in this war; he’ll never be able to scrub the blood from his skin. But familiar faces are different. A colder, harder version of him might not tarry over the corpses of the dead. But Felix hasn’t been that man in a long time. He knows Bernadetta’s death would haunt him for the rest of his days.

What is Felix even fighting for if it means killing people he cares about? Hasn’t he lost enough people already? Grief threatens to open up inside of him. Not a day goes by that Felix doesn’t ask himself why his father and brother had to die, while he survived. Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes and the rest of them have to live with the choices they’ve made. Bernadetta is alive. Now he must find the courage to face her.

Felix, Sylvain, and Ferdinand stand in the Varley estate’s entrance hall, flanked by guards. They must look a sight, having been on the road for weeks. Felix can feel the stiffness in his hair and, though his nose has become accustomed to it, he’s sure they all stink of horse. His right hand twitches at his side, feeling for the missing swords the guards took from him. Without his weapons, Felix feels naked. He doesn’t like the way the guards eye them; if they’re not careful they’ll end up dead or in a dungeon. Felix tries to relax. Bernadetta is flighty enough as it is without him on edge. Sylvain snakes an arm around his waist and sweeps comforting strokes along his hip bone with his thumb, seeming to sense Felix’s distress. He leans into the contact; it helps settle his nerves.

“F – Ferdinand?”

Wide gray eyes peer at them from under purple bangs as Bernadetta steps out to meet them. Her mustard yellow gloves tremble as she tries to smooth out the wrinkles in her violet tunic. Varley colors.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispers.

Ferdinand steps forward but immediately stops when two guards cross their pikes in front of him. He gives her a strained smile.

“I’m alive. It is good to see you again, Bernadetta.”

She draws closer in a daze.

“It can’t be. You… you died. Everyone at Myrddin perished. You, Ladislava, all your troops… there was no one left.”

Ferdinand’s face falls and he looks ashamed. Bernadetta gazes at the rest of them and her eyes lock onto Felix. Her expression is one he hoped he would never see again.

“You’re – you’re here to kill me aren’t you? You didn’t finish the job at Gronder and now you’re here to murder me in my sleep!”

She points accusatorily at him. Reacting to their lady’s anxiety, several guards’ hands drift towards their weapons.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he says quietly.

Bernadetta blinks at him in confusion, seemingly surprised by his uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Then… why are you here?”

“We’re here to defect to the Empire,” Sylvain cuts in, trying his best to look unthreatening.

“It’s true,” Ferdinand backs Sylvain up. “They helped me escape the Kingdom and we’ve come to the Empire to seek refuge.”

Bernadetta still hasn’t looked away from Felix. She barely seems to notice that they’re talking.

“Defect to the Empire… But you could have done that anywhere. Why would you come here? No, no, no, I don’t believe you! You – you must want to kill me. I’ve done too many things, terrible things, for you to not hate me.”

She might be speaking to the group, but Felix knows the words are for him. Bernadetta is beginning to hyperventilate. Felix needs to calm her down quickly.

“Bernadetta. Breathe. In and out. Just like we used to before choir practice when you didn’t want to sing in front of people.”

She takes several deep breaths with him and calms somewhat. Ferdinand shoots him an impressed glance. They explain the events of the last few months, how Ferdinand was captured, Felix and Sylvain’s relationship and treason, and their subsequent flight from the Kingdom. It’s easier than Felix thought it would be to convince Bernadetta that he and Sylvain are in love. Sylvain presses a soft kiss to his hairline while Felix is speaking and Bernadetta blushes. He supposes it’s probably like one of those romance novels she always liked to read. Perhaps they’ll make an appearance in her next book. Once Bernadetta is convinced that they aren’t going to kill her, she waves the guards away and settles them in a sitting room. As soon as they’re in private, Bernadetta embraces Ferdinand, sniffling.

“I’m so glad that you’re okay,” she says, rubbing her palms over her eyes, “There was a memorial and everything. And Hubert…”

Ferdinand frowns and pulls back.

“Is Hubert alright?”

“Hubert’s fine!” Bernadetta reassures him. “He’s just been… less terrifying. Being in the same room as him used to fill me with dread. Now, I just feel sad around him.”

“I see.”

Ferdinand visibly deflates into the couch. Felix watches him with some concern. Dimitri told them about the rumors surrounding Ferdinand and Hubert. Now, he’s beginning to suspect there’s some truth to them. Would Ferdinand really be able to turn against Hubert? He must, if they’re to survive this.

_“I want this war to be over! I don’t want any more people to die. I’ve – I’ve become fond of… some of you.”_

Fond of Sylvain, fond in the same way that Felix is fond of Bernadetta. Every fiber of his being screams that he can’t trust Ferdinand. But he knows that it’s the only way that this ridiculous plot is going to succeed. He wants this war to end too. Felix cannot not let this plan fail on his account, but he can’t do it alone. He grits his teeth. Trusting others and asking for help are not specialties of his. Sylvain seems to trust Ferdinand to some extent and, at the very least, it seems Ferdinand doesn’t want them to die. It’s not much, but it’s as much as he could hope for. It’s a place to start at least. For all those that he’s lost and for the people beside him, Felix will do whatever it takes to succeed. And if that means working with Ferdinand, so be it.

“Bernadetta, you know we can’t stay here,” Felix says.

She nods and casts her eyes down to the floor.

“Her Majesty and Hubert must see you in Enbarr.”

“Sylvain and I… we have nowhere else to go. If the Kingdom catches us, we’ll be executed for treason. We want to help the Empire, but the Emperor might not listen. Her Majesty and von Vestra trust you though. If you could vouch for us, I’d be grateful.”

Bernadetta thinks for a few moments, then goes to sit at her writing desk in the corner of the room. The sound of a quill scratching against parchment continues for an agonizing few minutes before she folds it into an envelope. She presses a signet ring into the warm wax and seals it with her house Crest before handing it to Felix.

“You spared my life. I don’t know if I can ever repay you, but perhaps this will help.”

“Thank you, Bernadetta.”

She purses her lips, struggling with something before covering her face with her hands.

“Don’t… die, okay?”

Felix gives her a wry smirk and some of the tension between them melts away. It’s not the same as before, but it’s better.

“I won’t.”

In the end, Bernadetta sends a messenger ahead to Enbarr. The three of them are given a chance to bathe, a fresh set of Imperial clothing, and a night’s rest before they’re back on the road again. A contingent of Varley knights is instructed to escort them to the capital. It’s all very polite, but Felix knows why they’re really there. It will take them a week to reach their destination.

Four days into their journey, Felix drops down onto the dirt by the campfire with a groan of relief. He can’t wait for them to reach Enbarr. By the time they reach the capital, they’ll have been travelling by horseback for about a month. Almost as exhausting is the charade he and Sylvain have to keep up for the benefit of the knights, day in and day out. During the day, Sylvain is his lover. There’s no flowery poetry or excessive displays of affection, but Sylvain is constantly touching him. A brush of his hand at Felix’s elbow to get his attention, a graze of Sylvain’s thumb while he brushes a crumb from Felix’s mouth, the press of Sylvain’s knee and thigh against his as they sit too close together during rests. It’s just the right amount of familiarity to give the illusion of an intimate relationship. But at night, once they turn into their shared tent, the façade falls away. Sylvain won’t touch him again until they’ve left their tent the following morning. All those men and women over the years, and Sylvain won’t touch him.

Ferdinand hunkers down next to him and Sylvain hands both of them meager bowls of soup before sitting on a stump log. Felix nods his thanks and blows on his portion to cool it down. The knights eye them warily before gathering on their own to eat their meal. There’s an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible. Their uneasy truce only needs to last a few more days.

“Do you think Bernadetta’s letter will be enough?” Sylvain asks.

Ferdinand makes an incomprehensible noise through the hair tie currently in his mouth as he pulls his long orange locks up into a bun. Sylvain lets out a surprised laugh; Ferdinand’s been around them too long and his politesse is slipping.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sylvain chuckles as he gives Ferdinand a teasing grin.

Ferdinand fixes him with a baleful glare.

“I said, I do not know. It’s certainly helpful. I’m optimistic that between the letter and me, you’ll be accepted into the Empire. Obviously, we won’t know for sure until we’re there.”

Sylvain leans forward and salaciously brushes a few strands of Felix’s hair back, caressing his fingertips over the shell of Felix’s ear and along the curve of his jawbone. Felix can’t drag his gaze away from Sylvain and the smoldering desire glinting in his amber eyes.

“I think Felix and I can convince them regardless.”

Felix swears his heart stops for a moment, and he can almost believe Sylvain is serious. It hurts how much he wants it to be true. Felix lets Sylvain’s hand fall away from his face and returns to his meal quietly. He and Sylvain are cut from different cloth. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but Felix isn’t sure that the differences are reconcilable. Sylvain can look at a person and know whether he finds them attractive. It’s not love, but it doesn’t need to be with Sylvain. He still enjoys the company, the physical contact. It’s never been that easy for Felix. He can hardly even imagine being with someone until he knows their character. Physical desire comes after, not before. Does Sylvain know how difficult it is for Felix to find anyone he wants to be with? Would Sylvain understand? Sylvain is convinced that all anyone wants from him is status from his Crest and his nobility; no one wants him for who he is. It’s ironic then, that the only reason why Felix even wants Sylvain is because of him and nothing else. Ferdinand gives him a pitying glance and Felix’s mood immediately sours. He doesn’t need Ferdinand’s pity.

“I trust Bernadetta,” Felix says pointedly while glowering at Ferdinand.

“But not me.”

Silence meets Ferdinand’s statement and he sighs.

“I do not know what you want from me, Felix.”

“Come on, Fe. The Professor wouldn’t have sent Ferdinand with us without reason. Let’s not fight tonight, okay?”

Sylvain nudges Felix with his shoulder, breaking his sullen stance. Felix bites back a sharp retort. Sylvain is right, nothing productive will come of this. Ferdinand steeples his hands beneath his chin, face serious.

“Edelgard always hoped she could sway the Professor to her side.”

Sylvain leans back, stretching with a yawn before folding his arms behind his head.

“She sure has a funny way of showing it. In my experience, attempted murder isn’t a great start to a relationship.”

Ferdinand grimaces.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Edelgard admires the Professor, even now. Her strength, her spirit, and her resolve. If Edelgard has one regret, it’s losing the Professor’s respect.”

Felix and Sylvain share an uncomfortable glance.

“Edelgard’s betrayal hit the Professor pretty hard. I think she blames herself for what happened,” Sylvain admits, but Ferdinand shakes his head.

“There was nothing the Professor could do. As Rhea’s protégé, she was inextricably tied to the Church of Seiros in Edelgard’s eyes. Their chosen paths could never cross.”

“Then you don’t know anything about the Professor,” Felix scoffs.

Ferdinand looks at him curiously.

“You’ve mentioned that Dimitri will dismantle the Church of Seiros, but I don’t understand why. The Church is strong in the Kingdom, there are far more believers there than in Adrestia or Leicester.”

Felix considers for a moment what to say. Sylvain moves his hand over Felix’s, expression wary. Dimitri told the Blue Lions in confidence; this information isn’t widely known. It’s dangerous, he knows. But something tells Felix that it would be a mistake not to tell Ferdinand the whole truth. Edelgard seems to know more about the Church’s machinations than any of them. They all need answers.

“The Professor, Byleth… she’s different,” Felix says carefully, “She was born at the monastery. Apparently, her mother was a nun there when Jeralt was captain of the Knights of Seiros. But Byleth was stillborn and her mother was close to death. We’re not sure what Rhea did to Byleth as a child, but she says it was at the request of Byleth’s mother. Whatever Rhea did… it robbed Byleth of a heartbeat and muted her emotions.”

Ferdinand’s mouth falls open.

“That’s – that’s not possible! How could she not have a heartbeat?”

“Keep your voice down!” Felix hisses glancing over at the knights.

They all hold their breath, waiting to see if anyone overheard their conversation. The knights don’t get up from their positions and after a moment they relax again. Sylvain stokes the campfire and throws another log on. A burst of sparks and crackles flare up. It should be harder to hear them now. In the flickering firelight, Sylvain’s eyes blaze with fury.

“Byleth was never supposed to be human. Seteth told us that Rhea referred to Byleth as a vessel for the Goddess.”

“Is that why she bears the Crest of Flames?”

Sylvain nods, fists clenched. Hesitantly, Felix puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. The cost of Byleth’s Crest weighs heavily on Sylvain. Just another in a long list of reasons why the Crest system should be burned to the ground, along with the Church.

“But… what would happen to the Professor? If she became a vessel?”

“She’d be erased. A justifiable sacrifice for the Goddess’ reincarnation.”

Sylvain practically spits the words out. Ferdinand pales.

“That’s despicable. If that was the Goddess’ will…”

“It wasn’t,” Felix says firmly, “The Goddess had nothing to do with it.”

Ferdinand’s brow furrows.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because of her connection, Byleth could speak to Sothis.”

Felix just manages to cut off Ferdinand’s squawk of disbelief with a surreptitious kick to the shin. Ferdinand scowls while he rubs at the bruise. Felix rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. The man needs to learn to be quiet. But who is he kidding? Ferdinand von Aegir is incapable of being quiet.

“The Goddess isn’t anything like how the Church of Seiros describes her. The whole religion is a sham to manipulate people to Rhea’s ends.”

“I… I see.”

Despite his words, Ferdinand still looks bewildered. Felix doesn’t blame him. It was a lot for him to take in at first too. He’s never been particularly devout, so definitive evidence of the Goddess’ existence was quite a shock. Felix was less surprised to hear that the Church was corrupt. There was already too much of that in Faerghus. Finally, Ferdinand seems to shake himself out of his daze.

“If all that is true, then why are we fighting each other?”

“You know, I ask myself that question every day,” Sylvain sighs, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully.

“Well, there was the whole incident of framing Dimitri for his uncle’s death, trying to execute him, and generally starving the citizens of Faerghus for five years,” Felix adds bitterly.

“Cornelia.”

Ferdinand utters her name like it’s a curse.

“I never understood why Edelgard allied with that awful woman. I know we didn’t have enough troops to occupy Faerghus ourselves, but… the things Cornelia did. There was no justice in her actions,” Ferdinand bows his head, “Nothing I can say can ever make it right. But for everything your people suffered, I am sorry.”

“I know,” Sylvain replies quietly, “But it’s hard to forgive something like that.”

Felix, more than most people, knows what that feels like. He’s spent most of his life refusing to forgive past wrongs. But since his father’s death, he’s been less keen to hold onto grudges and hatred. Byleth was able to forgive Dimitri, even after all that he put her through. And Felix knows that Dimitri deeply wishes he could reach out his hand to Edelgard and have her reach back, in spite of everything.

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

Ferdinand and Sylvain look at Felix in blank shock. He’s not usually good with vulnerability.

“What?” Felix snaps.

“Who are you and what have you done with Felix?” Sylvain asks in disbelief.

“I’m still _me_ , you moron.” Felix gestures towards Ferdinand. “As much as I hate to admit it, Ferdinand is right. Why are we fighting each other? The Kingdom, the Empire, we all want the same thing. Instead, the Church is turning us against each other.”

Ferdinand gazes at him shrewdly, assessing.

“What are you saying?”

“What if… what if there was another way? Can there be peace between our nations?”

“I… I don’t know. Edelgard has dedicated her life to her cause. If she’s not convinced that peace will end the Church, the nobility, and the Crest system, she will never stop fighting.”

The three of them all sit silently, staring at each other hesitantly.

“Look,” Sylvain says calmly, “there’s still a lot we don’t know. This dark magic business feels foul to me. The Church’s true history is a mystery. And, who is Sothis, really? We need answers before we make any drastic decisions.”

Felix releases the breath he’d been holding and nods. Sylvain is right. There are too many unknowns.

“If there is a way,” Ferdinand says haltingly, “will you pursue it?”

“Yes,” Sylvain replies easily.

“Can I hold you to that?”

There’s a hardness to Ferdinand’s expression and his eyes are like flint.

“I swear it.”

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. They clean up dinner and finish their preparations for tomorrow. When Felix finally slips inside their tent, his eyelids feel heavy. Sylvain strips off his tunic and pulls on a soft pair of sleep pants. Even though it’s been a few days, it’s odd to see Sylvain in Imperial crimson. It works surprisingly well with his hair color. In the dim light, Felix can barely see anything besides Sylvain’s silhouette. Still, the shape of his shadow traces the edge of broad rounded shoulders. Years of wielding a lance have built up Sylvain’s strength and his muscles show. In a straight contest, Sylvain could beat him at arm wrestling. Felix wins at sparring because he’s faster. Just like all the previous nights, Sylvain stays meticulously to his side of the tent. It’s like he’s allergic to Felix. A pit sinks to the bottom of Felix’s stomach.

“So, I guess we’re really working with Ferdinand now?” Sylvain asks.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I mean, yes, but I’m still pretty surprised you changed your mind.”

As soon he’s done changing, Sylvain curls up in his bedroll and tucks his arms under his head. He looks over at Felix, just a trace of his cheekbone visible in the dark.

“Ferdinand is… fine, I guess.”

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, are you making a new friend? Today is just full of firsts, isn’t it?”

“Will you shut up?”

“Why don’t you come make me?”

Felix’s breath hitches. He knows Sylvain is just teasing him, but the offer sends heat rushing to Felix’s face. He shoves his boots off and throws them into the corner without replying. Still, his thoughts drift in a treacherous direction. The edge of Sylvain’s hipbones digging into the insides of Felix’s thighs as he pins him down. He’d trap all their words, thoughts, and sounds between their lips. Felix has been thinking of that first kiss a lot lately. Would Sylvain react positively? Maybe. Maybe he’d think it would be nice to blow off steam on a stressful mission. The next morning, it would mean nothing. The daydream fades and Felix is left feeling a little hollow.

“Fe, I was just kidding.”

The blankets rustle as Sylvain sits up on his elbows.

“Yeah, I know. You never take anything seriously.”

“Harsh.”

Felix can almost hear Sylvain pouting.

“Am I wrong?”

“I take things seriously!”

Felix scoffs while he unties his hair and runs his fingers through it. The man hadn’t even taken his training seriously until Felix forced him to.

“It’s going to be a lot more dangerous moving forward. I promise I’m taking it seriously.”

“We’ll be in Ferdinand’s arena. He’s probably excited to be home.”

“Do you miss home, Fe?”

Felix used to hate going home. Home meant dealing with his old man’s ridiculous notions of knighthood and all the reminders of Glenn’s death, an unfillable void in the house. Now however, home meant his friends and familiar haunts. The new Faerghus that Dimitri is building? It’s a place Felix wants to live.

“I do, though I’ve thought about wandering for a bit. The life of a mercenary doesn’t sound so bad.”

Sylvain will likely marry soon after they return. Felix doesn’t want to stick around to see it.

“Honestly? It sounds lovely. No one would know who I am. It’d be the two of us, just like old times.”

A dull ache settles in Felix’s chest. He wishes Sylvain would stop tormenting him with forgone possibilities. Felix crawls into his bedroll and turns on his side to face Sylvain.

“First, we have to survive this.”

“And then?”

“Then we can do whatever you like, Syl.”

The words slip out before Felix can stop them, painfully vulnerable. It’s too easy for him to lose his composure around Sylvain. For a minute, Felix worries that he’s said too much. A tentative hand creeps out to cross the no-man’s land between them. Felix swallows hard before mirroring Sylvain. The tips of their fingers intertwine and he forgets how to breathe. Rough callouses on the pads of Sylvain’s fingers graze his knuckles.

“That’s sweet of you, Felix.”

They stay that way for a little while longer before Sylvain lets go and rolls onto his back to sleep.

“Goodnight, Fe.”

“Sleep well, Syl.”

That night, Felix dreams of closing the gap and stealing the breath from Sylvain’s lungs. They don’t speak of it again during the remainder of their journey. 

When they finally reach Enbarr, Felix is impressed by the layout of the city. Concentric circles organize the different districts and main roads radiate out from the center like the spokes of a wheel. Multi-floor buildings rise up on every street in a similar vein of architecture, bursting with businesses and people. Red-tiled roofs stretch as far as the eye can see. Enbarr is built for efficiency and beauty alike. But as impressive as the city is, the Emperor’s palace is even more so. They ride up a long dirt boulevard lined by poplar trees. Between the trees, Felix can catch glimpses of bronze statues, likely Hresvelg ancestors, mounted on pedestals that tower over the surrounding fountains. The grounds are quite extensive, largely occupied by sculpted gardens consisting of tall, geometric hedges. Low, white stucco walls covered in trailing vines border the grounds. The palace itself is defined by towering columns and intricately carved reliefs.

It’s not long before Imperial guards come to retrieve the three of them. The Varley knights look relieved to hand them off. Felix is pushed forward roughly, almost tripping over his feet when he reaches the staircase. The passageways he’s led down twist and turn until he’s thoroughly disoriented. After going down multiple sets of stairs, the air becomes noticeably colder. They must be somewhere deep below the palace. They’re separated and pushed into their own respective rooms. With a screeching noise, a chair is pulled across the floor and Felix settles into it. It’s a small room, with nothing but a single table and two chairs. Dorothea Arnault is waiting for him.

She’s dressed in a deep scarlet gown with black lace edges that hang off of her shoulders. Her wavy brown hair reaches halfway down her back and silver chains encircle her waist. Felix can almost imagine her on an opera stage. She certainly looks the part of a leading actress. Time has not changed the knowing look Dorothea gives Felix. It feels like she can see right through him.

“It’s been a long time, Lord Fraldarius,” Dorothea says. Her smile is cold.

“I’m not a lord of anything now.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.”

She’s studying him, though Felix doesn’t know what she’s searching for.

“Why are you here?” Dorothea finally asks.

“I want to defect to the Empire.”

She narrows her eyes skeptically, leaning forward across the table towards him.

“Why would you do that?”

“Sylvain and I… we couldn’t be together in the Kingdom.”

Dorothea’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

“You, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the lone wolf incarnate are abandoning the Kingdom for love?”

Hearing her say it now, Felix can’t deny how ridiculous it all sounds.

“Y – Yes.”

“How very convincing.”

Dorothea’s arms are crossed as well as her legs. Everything about her body language is closed off from him, wary. Felix tries again.

“We can’t go home. The Boar made sure of that.”

“Why would Dimitri do that?”

“You know how nobility works. Sylvain and I are Crest-bearers. They don’t give a damn about what we want. We’re supposed to get married and provide Crest-bearing heirs,” Felix spits. He gives a harsh laugh, “Honestly the marriage part is optional. A Crest would make any bastard of ours legitimate.”

Felix glares at Dorothea.

“And I have absolutely no interest in that.”

“Because you’re in love with Sylvain,” Dorothea emphasizes.

_Say it, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just to convince Dorothea._

“Because I’m in love with Sylvain,” he repeats.

She crosses her arms and her eyebrows almost touch her hairline.

“Ooof, I’m parched just listening to that dry declaration.”

Felix clenches his hands in his lap.

“I… I do.”

“You sure about that? I mean, I get it from Sylvain’s perspective. You are devilishly handsome and who doesn’t love a brooding swordsman? But you… It doesn’t add up.”

“It’s not an _equation_. And I’m not some swooning love interest from one of your operas.”

“No, I suppose not. But that’s just the issue isn’t it? You’ve spent your life avoiding love and romance because you think they’re distractions. What was it you said to me at the academy?”

Dorothea put on a scowl, an unflattering imitation of Felix’s own.

“I’ll always be more comfortable holding a sword than someone’s hand.”

Felix cringes. He had said those things. He meant them at the time. Although, in retrospect, he was also trying to convince himself. It’s not that Felix wants to be alone his whole life. But he needs someone who understands him, understands why strength means so much to him, why he always has his sword on him. There are only two people who fit that description, Byleth and Sylvain. Byleth is Dimitri’s betrothed, not that Felix ever considered her more than a mentor and a close friend. But Sylvain… For all his idiotic pursuits of women, his insistence on acting like a good-for-nothing, he always showed up when Felix really needed him, ever since they were children.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Dorothea asks, her tone biting.

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“What kind of a man are you then, hmm?” Dorothea stands and begins to circle him slowly. “Why did you run here of all places? I’m sure you would’ve received a warmer welcome in the Alliance. Why test your luck in the Empire?”

“We’re not just _fleeing_ ,” Felix says, insulted at the implication that he would be such a coward. “We want to join the Empire and fight to end this war. If leaving the Kingdom was all we wanted, we wouldn’t have bothered to free Ferdinand and we sure as hell wouldn’t have come here.”

“So Ferdinand is a token of goodwill then, is that it?”

“Evidently.”

Felix isn’t answering any of the questions wrong, but he can tell Dorothea is not reassured by his answers either. The woman never made sense to him at the academy and she doesn’t make sense to him now. Felix has no idea what answers she wants. Does she want him to profess his love for Sylvain poetically, flowery language and all? Does she want information? Does she want him to grovel?

“So, what?” Dorothea asks. “You want the Empire to be your new home?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

“Oh, I have many,” Dorothea says threateningly, “but I doubt you’d like any of them.”

She pauses in front of him now, one hand on her hip, looking down on him haughtily.

“Why do you call him the Boar?”

It’s far too easy to let his old grudges take hold again.

“He’s barely human. The war has driven him mad. He enjoys brutal slaughter far more than the company of the living. Or have you not heard the stories of the One-Eyed Demon?”

“So that’s what became of Dimitri… I wasn’t sure.” Dorothea’s face is severe. “If you’ve known Dimitri’s not fit to rule for so long, why didn’t you leave before? Why were you still willing to fight for a madman?”

“I didn’t fight for _him_ ,” Felix growls. “I wanted to protect my people.”

“Her Majesty can protect your people,” Dorothea retorts.

Felix swallows down his rage at the mention of Edelgard. He needs to let it go if they’re ever to make peace with the Empire, even if Edelgard is the reason they’re all in this mess to begin with, even if her betrayal almost shattered Dimitri beyond repair. He forces himself to look at it from a different perspective. Edelgard wants to forge Fódlan anew. Sometimes you have to break something to fix it. He just wishes she hadn’t broken Faerghus.

“I know. Meanwhile, the Boar couldn’t care less.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Dorothea taps her chin thoughtfully.

“Since you keep avoiding telling me what kind of man you are, why don’t you tell me what kind of man Sylvain is?”

The question takes him off guard. Felix expected to be interrogated about their relationship, why they left, why they came here, what information they have to offer. He did not expect an assessment of Sylvain.

“From what I remember,” Dorothea continues, “Sylvain is a philandering cad. Why should we – “

Felix has called Sylvain much the same but hearing it from Dorothea, when she chose to follow Edelgard, heartless and cruel as she is, makes him see red.

“Sylvain is _loyal_. So what, he was always looking for someone to warm his bed – “

“So, that’s what you think loyal means – “

“He’s smart, smarter than he lets on – “

“I highly doubt that – “

“He’s a damn fool, but when it comes to the people Sylvain really cares about, he’s always there when it really counts! Even if it means throwing himself in front of a blade for them.”

Subconsciously, Felix touches his chest, remembering the stab wound Sylvain had taken for him in a recent battle. He would’ve died otherwise, bleeding out on the trampled snow. It’s too quiet. He looks up and sees Dorothea regarding him in awe.

“Well I never… Felix Hugo Fraldarius is in love.”

Felix grimaces, even if it’s true. He reaches into his pocket and produces Bernadetta’s letter. He meant to give it to the guards earlier but they were more interested in getting them to these cells than anything he had to say.

“Perhaps this can convince you of our intentions.”

Dorothea snatches it from his hand and opens up the contents. She quickly scans it, her eyebrow inching higher and higher up her face. Dorothea looks back at him impressed.

“Not bad, you’ve got Bernadetta on your side. I didn’t expect that.” She purses her lips glancing at the letter again. “Well this might be enough to get you in the door, but you’ll still need to prove yourself.”

Dorothea calls a guard over who begins to escort Felix to his cell. She smiles at Felix then, lovely and beautiful, were it not for the sharp pricks he feels in his heart. Even roses have thorns.

**~Sylvain~**

“Lord Sylvain Jose Gautier. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” A piercing green eye bores in him, dark hair covering the other like a curtain.

“V – Von Vestra. It’s been a while.”

Sylvain offers a weak smile. Nerves. Hubert’s lips split into a cruel grin.

“Yes, I believe the last time we saw each other, the Imperial army was crushing your pitiful defense at Garreg Mach.”

A gulp.

“But, here you are, begging to be taken in by the Empire. Time is a strange thing, isn’t it?”

“I want to defect.”

Hubert lets out a dark chuckle and the sound chills Sylvain to the bone.

“Yes, yes, because you’ve declared your love for Fraldarius. What a pathetically inane reason. I can’t decide whether it’s the most audacious lie I’ve ever heard, or the disappointing truth. Though I suppose you have always fancied him.”

“I – I’m sorry?”

“Oh, spare me the forced innocence. It was obvious you were hopelessly pining after Fraldarius the entire time we were at the academy.”

Sylvain anxiously ruffles his hair.

“It… it wasn’t like that.”

“Suddenly you’re getting into public shouting matches with your mad king over him. There hadn’t been a peep about the two of you until very recently. Hmph. You always moved fast, Gautier. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Burning heat rushes to Sylvain’s cheeks. He pointedly ignores the last bit.

“He’s not _mad_ – I mean, he’s no longer my king – “

“Still a stroke of loyalty in you? After he stripped you of everything?”

“No, no, of course not!”

“But still, to seduce Fraldarius in a matter of weeks, that is a miracle.”

“I didn’t _seduce_ Felix.“

“How else would you describe your preposterous elopement?”

“He chose to come with me. Felix wants to be with me.”

Hubert steeples his fingers.

“Oh my, that reeks of desperation. Fraldarius never gave you the time of day before. You followed him around like a sad puppy, happy for even the tiniest scrap of affection he felt inclined to throw you. Are you so certain he loves you?”

Sylvain’s heart lurches. _No, he doesn’t._ Quietly.

“He does.”

Hubert scoffs.

“I don’t believe in miracles or the goddess. And I certainly don’t believe the two of you abandoned your country for love.”

Clenched fists.

“I would follow Felix anywhere, until the bitter end. He’s stubborn and he’s difficult, but I wouldn’t want him any other way. Even with his...obsession with becoming stronger, as if he isn’t already the strongest person I know. He fills my every waking thought. It’s like – it’s like I’m his captive. My country is a small price to pay to be his. Felix is… everything to me.”

For once, Hubert isn’t looking at him, instead his eyes are turned towards the wall.

“Everything?”

A whisper.

“I love him.”

When Hubert turns back there’s an indecipherable emotion on his face.

“As much as I loathe to admit it, it seems you do. The philanderer falls at last.”

There’s silence as Sylvain tries to collect himself.

“It’s not just about us.”

A pause.

“Do go on.”

“Even if we weren’t together, Felix and I were going to be forced into political marriages to produce Crest-bearing heirs. His Majesty was convinced they were necessary to defend our borders.”

A sneer, dripping with disdain.

“So, you shirked your duties then? You couldn’t fulfill your obligations to the Kingdom because of such a petty reason as love and now we’re supposed to trust you in our ranks?”

Sylvain flinches back into his chair.

“I thought the Empire wanted to dismantle the Crest system, free people from the burden of their hierarchy. That’s why we came here. We want to see that future.”

Hubert gazes at him more intently now, evaluating.

“And what are you willing to do to see it?”

Sylvain frowns, confused.

“Whatever it takes to win this war.”

“Even if it means killing your friends?”

Gritted teeth.

“If I must.”

“Killing your dear Professor? Killing your mad king?”

“It is… necessary.”

“I’m glad we agree on that point, Gautier. Though, I’ll need more than that,” Hubert smirks, “I’m sure the two of you have an abundance of useful information swirling around in your heads.”

Sylvain sighs.

“Whatever you want to know.”

**~Ferdinand~**

“Y – Your Majesty?”

The chair clatters as Ferdinand stands abruptly to bow. A soft smile graces Edelgard’s face.

“My dear Ferdinand, I’m relieved to see that you’re alive after all this time.”

Ferdinand chuckles awkwardly.

“As am I, it has been a long few months in captivity. I am simply grateful to be home once more.”

Violet eyes narrow, a spark of anger in them.

“Do not worry, I intend to make them pay for everything they’ve done. Everything _my teacher_ has done.”

“Your Majesty, I appreciate the sentiment, but the Professor is the only reason I am alive. She… she refused to let me fall. Even after all this time, her skill is unmatched. I was barely a hindrance to her. In spite of my best efforts, the Professor rendered me unconscious to save my life.”

Edelgard stares at him, eyes wide.

“She… she what?”

“She spared my life, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard rubs her face wearily before collapsing into the chair. It’s only the two of them in this room, no one else to see her lack of composure.

“Nothing makes sense to me anymore.”

_You’re not the only one._

Felix’s sudden reversal caught him completely by surprise. It’s only a moment, and then Edelgard is Emperor once more.

“There are some delicate matters we must discuss now that you’ve returned. Namely the position of Prime Minister.”

“Delicate?”

Edelgard looks at him with some concern.

“I know that you’ve been imprisoned for several months, surely that’s taken a toll on you. As Emperor I must do what is in the best interest of the Empire. But as your friend, I would hate to ask too much of you. Do you still wish to be Prime Minister?”

Of the many things Ferdinand prepared himself to answer upon their arrival, he had not anticipated doubt in his abilities.

“Of course, Your Majesty! I came here with the sole aim of ending this war. I cannot stand on the sidelines. Any lingering effects of my captivity should sort themselves out after a few weeks at most.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but please answer carefully. You are earnest, I have no doubt. I am not asking merely about physical wounds. Having been in captivity for so long, are you sure there are no lingering effects? Understand, I am asking for your sake as well as the Empire’s. We cannot afford to have a Prime Minister that cannot carry out their duties.”

Edelgard brings her clasped hands up to cover her mouth while she’s deep in thought. Whatever is on her mind makes her expression grow dark.

“There is no weakness in admitting that you may need time to recover, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand sits stunned. Edelgard is someone who is relentlessly driven by her vision, even when it would be best for her to rest or delegate tasks to others. For her to suggest he set aside his duty to recover... she must be quite worried about him.

“Your Majesty,” Ferdinand begins. Pale violet eyes look up at him. “I deeply appreciate your concern for my well-being. But I do not jest when I say I wish to take up the mantle once more. Your cause is mine; I must do my part to see it through.”

She smiles, relief flooding her face.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Do not worry yourself on my account. My imprisonment was not overly taxing, merely frustrating that I could not be where I should be.”

Edelgard regards him, lips pursed in thought.

“I’m sure Gautier and Fraldarius will have their own versions of the story, but I would like to hear it directly from you. What happened to you after you were captured? How did you come to escape and arrive here?”

Ferdinand recounts his capture at the hands of the Professor and how he was then kept under supervision as a prisoner of war until they made it back to the capital.

“I suppose I hadn’t made a complete nuisance of myself because they saw fit to keep me under house arrest in one of the guest suites in the castle. Sylvain was one of the people tasked most often with bringing me my meals and anything else I might require. We were close friends back at the academy if you remember. At first, I thought nothing of it, merely an old friend trying to make me comfortable.”

Edelgard nods, following Ferdinand’s tale intently.

“But over time, I began to suspect something else.”

“How so?” she asks.

“Sylvain wanted to talk to me about the differing philosophies between the Kingdom and the Empire. He asked a lot of questions regarding your vision for the new world. It was rather unexpected for a Kingdom general to be so sympathetic to your cause.”

“Indeed,” Edelgard replies, but her brow is furrowed, in confusion or suspicion, Ferdinand can’t say.

“Of course, we talked about all manner of things. But he frequently confided in me about his feelings regarding Felix. In an effort to be a good friend, I encouraged him to pursue it. I had no idea their actions would result in their expulsion from the Kingdom. But it seems Sylvain and Felix had anticipated this reaction and had a contingency plan in place. In their effort to escape Fhirdiad, they also released me. We travelled through the Oghma mountains until we reached Varley and were captured. Now, I sit before you.”

Ferdinand finishes and sits tensely in his chair. He did his best to stick to the truth, only embellishing the parts that would bolster Sylvain and Felix’s cover.

“They treated you quite well, given that you were my Prime Minister. I am not sure that if the reverse were true, I would've given one of their own the same treatment.”

Ferdinand fidgets with his cravat nervously.

“You know the Kingdom prides itself on honor and chivalry. They have no interest in unnecessarily cruel confinement.”

Ferdinand isn’t sure how far to go. On the one hand, he doesn’t wish to paint the Kingdom in such a bad light that it would make Edelgard resistant to any sort of treaty. On the other, however, he can’t portray himself as overly sympathetic or he’ll be viewed as compromised.

“I see.”

Edelgard gets up and paces back and forth in the room.

“Well, I’m glad their weakness has provided us an advantage. It’s been… difficult while you were gone.”

“I intend to make up for my absence in full, Your Majesty.”

“Much has happened since your capture. It will take some time to get you up to speed. Hubert will be tasked with aiding you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for this opportunity. I will not fail you.”

“It’s good to have you back Ferdinand.”

Edelgard sweeps out of the room, crimson cloak flaring behind her.

**~Felix~**

It seems like an age has passed before Sylvain and Ferdinand are shepherded into the same room as him. Edelgard stands at the center, one hand propped up under her chin as she takes the three of them in, her expression calculating. Dorothea stands to her right, Hubert to her left. Ferdinand seems shaky but alright, though Felix catches a glimpse of jealousy when he sees Dorothea.

_Heh. He doesn’t appreciate being replaced._

Felix very determinedly ignores the fact that the same likely happened after Sylvain and his defection. Sylvain however, looks pale and unnerved. Felix takes a step towards him.

“Syl, are you okay?”

Sylvain looks up at him and puts on a smile. Not here, it says.

“I’m alright, Fe.”

He leans down slightly and touches his forehead with Felix’s. It’s intimate and reassuring. Felix feels his pulse slow down knowing Sylvain isn’t hurt.

“ _Ahem_.”

They both look up to see Edelgard watching them, brow raised.

“Thanks to your efforts, my Prime Minister has returned home. Clearly, you’ve undergone a great deal to reach us. I would be remiss if my vision for the future did not provide a place for misguided souls to come to their senses.”

They all hold their breath as Edelgard pauses.

“Therefore, Gautier, Fraldarius, you are welcome here in the Empire. We will periodically call on your knowledge of the Kingdom army and its tactics. Your assimilation into our fighting forces will also be slow while we assess your abilities.”

She smiles, but her smile is sharp and dangerous.

“Hubert, you shall be responsible for helping Ferdinand with his duties until he is able to see to them himself.”

Ferdinand bows and Felix and Sylvain follow suit.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard nods in acknowledgement.

“Gentlemen, you’re dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of a demisexual Felix! I think it makes a great contrast with Sylvain and he's such a soft boi at heart.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert is reunited with Ferdinand after mourning him for months. Edelgard and Hubert question Rhea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it and happy holidays to everyone else! Hope you enjoy hearing from Hubert for the first time. :)

**~Hubert~**

_He’s alive. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive._

The words repeat in Hubert’s head over and over again until it’s like a mantra. They burn through his veins, setting his body alight with a humming anxiety. He can barely restrain himself as he waits for Ferdinand to be brought to the room along with Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain.

His interrogation was… surprising. Hubert wasn’t quite ready for how sincere a man best known for his skirt-chasing would be. Sylvain seemed like a changed man. Hubert can’t decide if that’s for the better. He doesn’t want to think that he might be too.

_“He fills my every waking thought. It’s like – it’s like I’m his captive… Felix is… everything to me.”_

The words ring in Hubert’s ear, sliding between his ribs like a well-placed dagger. Despite his best efforts, Hubert couldn’t bring himself to say anything cruel to Sylvain’s confession. It hit far too close to home.

For three long agonizing months, Hubert was certain Ferdinand was dead. The report had arrived a week after the battle. He’d known what it would say before he’d even opened it. The messenger was pale-faced and solemn. And even so, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small cry when he found Ferdinand’s name on the list of the fallen. They’d already lost so many to the war, Hubert thought he was immune to sorrow. Compartmentalized boxes that wouldn’t be opened until victory was achieved. How foolish of him to think that Ferdinand could be contained in any capacity.

_Damn that prideful bastard._

Hubert was sure that the man’s ridiculous notions of honor and nobility had gotten him slain in Myrrdin, instead of making a strategic retreat. Ferdinand’s effervescent optimism, obnoxious confidence, and his inability to give anything less than his best in everything he does, it all but ensured that he would die at his post. All the things that Hubert found himself begrudgingly admiring about the man were what killed him in the end.

For three months, he mourned. What, Hubert was not sure. What was Ferdinand to him? A colleague? A comrade in arms? A… friend? Hubert dared not interrogate further. If he did, Hubert feared he might break. What use was there in tormenting himself over a future he would never see? It wasn’t until after Ferdinand was torn from his life that Hubert realized the cruel truth. He spent every free moment with Ferdinand. Hubert hardly knew what to do with himself in his absence.

Lady Edelgard’s cause motivated him still. He could not allow her dream to fail because of his personal struggles. But in the privacy of his room, Hubert lay awake in the darkness, consumed by the memories of everything that was missing. The burning passion in Ferdinand’s liquid eyes when he had a brilliant new idea for the future of the Empire. His boisterous laugh, so vibrant, rich, and full of life. That cocksure way Ferdinand would place his hands on his hips, chest puffed out like a preening peacock. Hubert had tried to tell him once, that even as ridiculous as it was, Hubert liked those things about him. Poor Ferdinand had almost choked on his tea and become so out of sorts that Hubert was forced to cloak his sentiments in impassive evaluation. Now Ferdinand was gone and there would be no second chance. There wasn’t even a body to bury. No one had survived. A crushing defeat for the Empire.

A part of him wanted to hate Ferdinand, for going to Myrrdin, for breaking his promise to return. For making Hubert _weak_. It was a weakness, that suffocating ache that made it impossible to breathe every time he caught the scent of Ferdinand’s favorite tea wafting from a merchant’s cart. Such fleeting moments of respite between battles and work, yet they were the brightest part of Hubert’s day. He avoided the gardens, the opera, and the stables. Anything that could possibly remind him of that insufferable man, for Ferdinand was the only reason he had ever enjoyed such things.

And yet, Hubert could not hate Ferdinand, even as his grief made him sloppy on the battlefield, so focused on making the enemy feel his pain. How could he possibly hate the angelic creature that had so effortlessly carved a place for himself by Hubert’s side? He hardly deserved it, how could such a bright thing bear being so close to him? Hubert has always known his purpose is to carve Lady Edelgard’s path, stain his hands in blood so she doesn’t have to, carry out the brutal, gruesome acts that are required to win this war. Ferdinand deserved better than to be tainted by him. In spite of everything, Hubert regretted nothing. To think that Ferdinand is returning to him now, it’s almost too much.

Footsteps sound in the hallway and his heart speeds up. _He’s alive._ Hubert clenches his fists at his side, relaxing when he notices Lady Edelgard’s concerned glance. It takes all of his strength of will to strangle his emotions into submission. It would not do to lose his composure now. Not when Ferdinand is so close.

Ferdinand steps through the doorway, the splendor of his gleaming orange locks undimmed by his time away. Ferdinand. Even Hubert’s sharpest memories could not do the man justice, could not capture the slight upturn of Ferdinand’s sculpted nose, the warmth of his honey-colored eyes, the soft curves of his cheekbones. And nothing on earth could have prepared Hubert for the radiant smile, so dazzling it almost hurts, that stretches across Ferdinand’s face when he sees him. Nothing else in the room exists. He barely hears anything Lady Edelgard says. It’s only when she gives him his assignment of aiding Ferdinand that he breaks out of his trance. Hubert bows in acknowledgement. The guards lead Sylvain and Felix to their quarters for the time being, Lady Edelgard and Dorothea excuse themselves, and finally, _finally_ , Hubert and Ferdinand are blessedly alone.

“You came back,” Hubert says, still disbelieving, still not quite convinced that the man in front of him is real.

“Yes, though not in the manner I intended,” Ferdinand replies, his smile faltering.

“I am glad, regardless.”

Neither of them seems to know what to say after that. Ferdinand wrings his hands anxiously.

“Her Majesty has appointed me Prime Minister again. I assumed Her Majesty had found a replacement in my absence, but it appears I was wrong.”

Lady Edelgard was not able to bring herself to replace Ferdinand over the last few months. Hubert was grateful. He doubted he would have been able to tolerate anyone else in the position.

“Does being wrong really surprise you so, Ferdinand?”

For a moment, the man gapes at him, before bursting into laughter. He wipes away a few tears of mirth.

“Ah Hubert, how I’ve missed you. I can always rely on you to be sharp-tongued as ever.”

Hubert fixes him with a withering glare even as his cheeks warm. _You missed me._ Ferdinand sways slightly and Hubert immediately reaches out to steady him.

“My apologies, you must be exhausted after such a long flight. Not to mention the months in captivity. Please, let me escort you to your chambers.”

“Hubert, I believe I remember the way to my own room.”

Hubert grimaces. He wanted an excuse to stay close to Ferdinand a little while longer. Ferdinand seems to notice his discomfort.

“Could we,” Ferdinand starts hesitantly, “do you think we could take tea together? I can make you coffee and you can tell me about what I have missed while I was away. I am sure a bit of sustenance will do me a world of good.”

Hubert cannot think of anything he wants more than to drink coffee prepared by Ferdinand’s hands.

“Of course. In your quarters or perhaps in the gardens?”

Ferdinand looks out of the window, taking in the blue skies and sunlight.

“I think I prefer outside. It is a beautiful day, is it not?”

It is a simple thing to take a servant aside and request that tea leaves and coffee beans be brought to them. Hubert makes sure to ask for one of Ferdinand’s favorites, the southern fruit blend. As they settle into their respective seats under the veranda, the familiar places feel foreign after so long. Ferdinand is thinner, Hubert realizes. Out in the bright daylight, it’s clear that his old clothes hang slightly loose on his frame. Even knowing Sylvain’s account of Ferdinand’s relatively easy imprisonment, Hubert fumes internally at the result. Ferdinand should never have been taken away from the Empire.

“What is it?” Ferdinand asks, noticing his tightened expression. Hubert quickly smooths his features and gives a small smile.

“I am simply enjoying the weather.”

Ferdinand nods.

“It’s good to be home.”

It’s said with such sincerity that Hubert feels some of his anxiety slip away. Ferdinand wants to be here, not the Kingdom. This is still his home. He watches as Ferdinand brings his teacup up to his nose and inhales deeply. A contented sigh leaves his lips.

“You remembered.”

Had Ferdinand always looked at him with such affection?

“The aroma has been my constant companion these past five years, I could hardly forget it if I tried,” Hubert scoffs.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

Such earnest praise given for the smallest effort.

“You’ve been through so much. It is the least that I can do,” Hubert tells him.

He wishes he could do more to alleviate the strain Ferdinand’s captivity has left on him. Perhaps Hubert can invite him on an afternoon ride tomorrow. Ferdinand would likely be delighted to see his beloved steed, Aria, again. Hubert made sure she was well taken care of after the news of Ferdinand’s death. It was too difficult for him to visit the stables in person, but he also could not bear letting go of one of the last pieces of Ferdinand he had left.

“So, tell me what I’ve missed,” Ferdinand says, leaning back into his chair.

“Dorothea has become much closer to Her Majesty these last few months. It’s been good to see Her Majesty find some happiness.”

“Ah, I noticed but I was not sure. That is wonderful to hear! I know Dorothea always hoped to find love. I am glad her search is finally over.”

Hubert detects a note of jealousy, but it’s quickly replaced by happiness for their friends. He smirks.

“They seem to be at an impasse on the subject of marrying. Her Majesty believes it’s more prudent to wait until after the war. That way they can properly celebrate without distractions. Dorothea is of the opinion, however, that the future is uncertain and therefore they should not take chances.”

“That does not surprise me in the least,” Ferdinand says smiling, “But they balance each other out well. What is your view?”

“What?” Hubert asks, confused.

“Which of the two do you agree with? And don’t say Her Majesty just because your loyalty calls for it.”

“My loyalty does not call for me to be biased, Ferdinand. I am perfectly capable of impartially considering their stances.”

He knows what people say, that he is merely Lady Edelgard’s lapdog. Hubert has never particularly cared before, but for some reason Ferdinand’s assumption irks him this time. A mere lapdog would not have been so affected by the death of someone who was not his master.

“Well then?” Ferdinand presses.

“It is… It is not my place to say.”

There’s a keenness to Ferdinand’s gaze that Hubert is not sure if he likes. It passes a second later.

“Yes, of course. I suppose we will find out who wins that debate soon enough. How has everyone else fared?”

“Everyone is well,” Hubert assures him, “Linhardt is most content with his new position at the Imperial Institute of Crestology. Caspar is… an exasperating general but successful, so I cannot berate him too much. Petra is currently in Brigid to gain her grandfather’s support for our cause. And Bernadetta is thriving now that she’s out of the shadow of her contemptible father.”

Hubert watches Ferdinand’s face as a series of emotions cross it. Happy but wistful, with sadness and regret trailing after. Ferdinand keeps flickering his eyes between Hubert and some unidentified point beyond his shoulder.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert asks quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Ferdinand fiddles with the cuff of his shirt.

“I… I want to apologize.”

Hubert swallows with some difficulty. He’s not sure he’s ready to have this conversation.

“What for? You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I must.”

“Why?”

“I left you burdened with my responsibilities for months. You’ve had to carry the Empire on your shoulders…”

Hubert controls himself before he scowls. Part of him wants to say that he’s always carried the Empire on his shoulders and part of him wants to tell Ferdinand just how heavy that burden was alone. He can feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface, held at bay so far by his relief at seeing Ferdinand alive.

“Yes, I did.”

Ferdinand looks like he’s been slapped. Hubert almost apologizes, but his anger takes satisfaction in Ferdinand’s hurt expression.

“Why did you not retreat?”

It’s a question that has haunted Hubert, as he wondered about all the different ways the battle could have unfolded.

“I could not. We had to hold the Great Bridge of Myrrdin. Without it, the Empire is vulnerable to invasion. Aegir territory is vulnerable to invasion.”

_Aegir territory. What nonsense._

He’s not even looking at Hubert, fixated instead on some trivial hedge behind him. Ferdinand’s explanation only serves to upset him further.

“We’re vulnerable to invasion regardless. You lost the Bridge. Ladislava and your soldiers were wiped out,” Hubert hisses. “It is only by the grace of the Professor’s unfathomable fondness for her former students that you’re alive at all. The Empire was worse off having lost not just the Bridge but our Prime Minister as well. Do you have any idea what the morale of the Black Eagle Strike Force has been? The morale of the Imperial army?”

Ferdinand’s face falls and he lowers his eyes to his teacup.

“You are angry with me. I never meant to break my promise, Hubert.”

“Whether you meant to or not, you _did_.”

“I know.” Sigh. “Hubert…”

Hubert bites his tongue. What is he doing, lecturing Ferdinand for something that has already happened? He’s here now, he’s alive. That’s all that matters. Ferdinand reaches for his hand and Hubert curses his gloves, wishing the sensation of Ferdinand’s fingers on his were not muted. It’s a gesture of reassurance, of grounding, a reminder that Ferdinand is real. It sends Hubert’s pulse racing. If Ferdinand grips his wrist a bit tighter, Hubert is afraid he’ll feel it. He lifts his hands away, returning them to his lap.

_Flames, what am I doing?_

“I am grateful that you are alive. But Ferdinand, you are _important_. As Prime Minister, as a General, as the Emperor’s advisor. Please consider that before you throw your life away so lightly again.”

_You’re important to me._

Ferdinand’s eyes go a little wide and Hubert suddenly realizes what his words sounded like.

“I will, I promise.”

“Can I hold you to that?” Hubert asks, one brow arched.

Ferdinand’s mouth twists slightly in distaste.

“There are no guarantees in war. But I swear I have no wish to die. When I stayed at Myrrdin, it wasn’t for nobility, or honor, or trying to prove myself to Her Majesty. I was trying to protect the Empire. And perhaps I was wrong to make the choice I did, but my intentions were true.”

Hubert sighs. Foolish as his reasons were, it is difficult to reprimand Ferdinand for his devotion to the Empire.

“Everything we do is for the Empire. I… understand, even if I do not like it. I should not have let my anger get the better of me.”

Ferdinand glances away. There’s a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“I thought of this, you know, while I was imprisoned. I missed our teatimes.”

Hubert softens. Ferdinand suffered enough in his own mind. There’s no need to compound it.

“We can do this as often as you’d like now. You have much to catch up on.”

They both chuckle thinking of the figurative stack of work awaiting Ferdinand.

“How has the Empire held up?” Ferdinand asks.

Hubert pauses before answering.

“Not well,” he sighs, “Our campaign has become quite difficult, with more losses than I care to admit. Your perspective was… sorely missed.”

“I suppose I shall have to work twice as hard to make up for my absence.”

There’s the old Ferdinand again, bursting with self-confidence and the willpower to do anything he sets his mind to.

“You’ve been amongst the Kingdom army for some time and spent time in Fhirdiad. I’m sure your insight will go a long way towards recovering our position in this war.”

“I’m sure Sylvain and Felix will prove invaluable as well.”

Hubert scoffs.

“We’ll see. I was never impressed by either of them at the academy. I don’t see why it will be different now.”

Ferdinand frowns at him.

“They helped me escape. Surely that counts for something?”

“I suppose,” Hubert relents, “No one expects you to start working today, you do realize?”

Ferdinand lets out a hearty laugh, and for a moment it’s like he was never absent.

“Hubert, I have never seen you take a day off in the entirety of the time I have known you. War is no time to be slacking. Please, I’ll be fine.”

Hubert wants to protest but knows it will do no good. Ferdinand is right, as he always is.

“Well then, Prime Minister, I believe we have work to do.”

Ferdinand smiles brightly and Hubert has to look away before he does something foolish. The last three months were a selfish indulgence in emotions that have no place in war. Now that Ferdinand has returned, things will return to how they were. It's a relief. Yes, that’s what he feels. The Empire is stronger with its Prime Minister restored.

Over the next few days, Hubert spends as much time as he dares with Ferdinand, apprising him of the new commanders that have been appointed and the current plans in place. But eventually his responsibilities call. Lord Arundel has recently made a demand of Lady Edelgard that they wish to avoid at all costs. Today will determine whether they can decline or not.

Carrying a simple tray of food, Hubert makes his way down through the palace levels until he reaches an unassuming hallway. A long red runner carpet is the only source of color amidst the drab grey stone. Down here, the only thing of interest is the food stores. That is, unless one knows about the secret entrance to the chamber beneath the palace. The interrogation rooms Felix and Sylvain were dragged to are also down below. But no one knows about this place except for Hubert and Lady Edelgard.

Columns project halfway out of the walls giving it a fortress-like feel. Hubert counts them as he goes by, his boots echoing softly against the walls. When he reaches the seventeenth column, he pauses. Taking a thin needle, Hubert pricks his thumb and smears it on a brick that is not quite as flush as the rest of its brethren. A dull red color stains the stone, but as Hubert watches it slowly fades away until it’s as though the wall was never touched. He presses his hand against it and a sigil flares, a swirling purple and black star. A section of the column slides back with a rumbling grinding noise. Stairs spiral down into the darkness. Hubert lifts a torch from its sconce and it flares to life. As he descends, the doorway closes once more and all he is left with is the orange glow from the torch’s flame. Dampness permeates everything down here, moisture dripping down the walls more frequently the further down he goes. Hubert is glad for his cloak; warmth does not penetrate this far below the earth.

When Hubert reaches the bottom of the stairwell, he is not surprised to see Lady Edelgard waiting for him. Her expression is severe, as though she is deep in thought. Hubert can see where strands of her pure white hair have fallen out of her crown. But rather than make Lady Edelgard look disheveled, she only looks more dangerous. Nestled in her hair, the curved golden horns of the Adrestian Emperor glint under the torchlight. He vividly remembers the first time he saw them placed on Lady Edelgard and the surge of pride he felt. Here, dressed in a crimson gown, is the Emperor Hubert dedicated his life to. Back straight and hand curved around the hilt of the undulating blade at her hip, Lady Edelgard looks every inch the ruler she was always destined to be.

“Hubert, I see you brought food for our prisoner. Good.”

“If Rhea refuses to cooperate, we may be forced to hand her over to Lord Arundel.”

Every time Hubert is forced to speak that detestable man’s name, he feels the need to rinse the filth from his skin. Hatred is not a strong enough word to describe his feelings towards Lady Edelgard’s uncle and Those Who Slither in the Dark. Though they are in an uneasy alliance, the idea of giving them anything that they want fills him with revulsion. Lady Edelgard cuts through the air with her hand in disagreement.

“We cannot do that. Those Who Slither in the Dark are capable of heinous magic. They almost succeeded five years ago with Flayn. Who knows what they could accomplish with such a powerful magical being?”

“But is it wise to confide in her about them? You will have to be honest with her or she will never trust you.”

Hubert dislikes how unpredictable their current course of action is. Rhea is unreliable, as likely to tell them the truth as she is to send them to their deaths. There was a time when Hubert thought they were invincible. Lady Edelgard revealed herself at the Holy Tomb, the culmination of years of planning and hard work. Garreg Mach, the seat of power of the Church of Seiros, fell under the weight of the Imperial army. Rhea, the Immaculate One, was captured. Their opponents were scattered to the four winds and Lady Edelgard began her war for the freedom of humanity in earnest. Hubert felt like he was on top of the world. How quickly that changed.

“It is necessary. We are on the brink of destruction. The spineless western lords of the Kingdom have crawled back to Dimitri’s court. Our allies in the Alliance have abandoned us. I can feel the wolves beginning to close in, Hubert. My uncle thinks he can exploit our weakness. I will not allow him. My comfort means nothing in the face of such obstacles.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Edelgard strides forward. They stop before the only occupied cell. It is reinforced with magical dampeners, to prevent Rhea from using her powers. Between the black encrusted bars, Hubert can see Rhea lying on a rough cot. Her white gown is dirty and torn and her pale sea foam hair is dull. Dark circles line Rhea’s eyes, accentuating how pale and gaunt her face has become. She barely looks up when they arrive. Hubert slides the tray of food through the slot, but Rhea makes no movement to retrieve it. Her head falls back listless on her thin pillow.

“So, you’ve come again.”

Rhea’s voice is raspy and weak, but unwelcoming all the same. For five years, they have held her here and, in that time, learned almost nothing. The first year Rhea’s wrath was formidable, their questions answered by vows of vengeance and punishment from the Goddess. The second year her anger was muted, though she made her hatred of them clear. By the third year Rhea seemed to lose all hope. And still, she resists them. Hubert would admire her tenacity if it were not so frustrating. They need her alive. Only Rhea has the answers that they seek. Those Who Slither in the Dark, they hate the children of the Goddess yes, but the people of the world too. And they have no idea the full extent of what their allies are capable of. To defeat the Church of Seiros only to fall to equally detestable creatures would be disastrous for all of Fódlan.

“Rhea,” Lady Edelgard intones.

Finally, the former Archbishop rouses herself and sits up. For someone whose other face is the Immaculate One, it is difficult to see her so weak now. Hubert dreamed with his lady for years of bringing that proud creature low. He does not pity her. But neither does her state bring him any satisfaction anymore. Rhea turns her hollow eyes towards them.

“So far, you have refused to answer our questions. You won’t tell us anything about the Children of the Goddess, the Relics, or Crest stones. Frankly, I’m starting to wonder if you’re worth all this trouble. My uncle, Lord Arundel, has asked that we hand you over to him. I’m inclined to agree.”

Hubert stands in the background and merely observes Lady Edelgard as she speaks to Rhea.

“Why should I care if I’m your captive or his? It makes no difference to me.”

“I think you’ll find that it does. Have you heard of Those Who Slither in the Dark?”

Confusion wrinkles Rhea’s brow at the name.

“Those who slither in the dark…”

“They resent the Children of the Goddess. Their blood magic gives them capabilities far beyond what I possess. Lord Arundel… associates with them.”

Rhea’s gaze sharpens, her lips pressed in a flat line.

“So that’s why they were at Garreg Mach. You brought them there, allied with them, defiled the Holy Tomb for them. Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.”

“You know them then.”

Lady Edelgard and Rhea stare each other down, neither wanting to blink first. Hubert finds himself on edge waiting for the bowstring-tight tension between them to snap. Rhea’s voice is low when she issues her threat.

“You will be consumed by your own greed for power. Just like Nemesis.”

A spark of life there, some color in Rhea’s cheeks.

The faith that Hubert has in Lady Edelgard is absolute. Even still, he tries to resist the small shard of doubt that seeks to work its way into his heart. Those Who Slither in the Dark… they’ve hinted that Lady Edelgard possesses an untapped power, one that can rival the Children of the Goddess themselves. Hubert shudders to think what that might mean. Deep in his bones, he knows that if Lady Edelgard ever used it, they will have already lost.

Lady Edelgard remains unmoved.

“We’re back to scripture again I see.”

“Why do you hate the Goddess?”

Rhea seems genuinely at a loss, as though she could not conceive of a life not guided by that creature’s whims. Hubert’s lip curls.

“The Goddess failed to properly govern this world. I had to rise to the occasion. People should be allowed to rise and fall on their own merits, not the magic running through their veins. Nobility has ridden on the backs of commonfolk for far too long. And all the while they did it in the Goddess’ name.”

Rhea laughs, a choked hysterical sound. It takes too much energy and she dissolves into a coughing fit until she’s left gasping for air. Hubert stiffens, it has been a long time since they’ve heard that sound.

“You have no idea of what you speak, child. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Lady Edelgard brushes her pale locks over her shoulder.

“Enlighten me. I hold your fate in the palm of my hand. This war must end. If handing you over will accomplish that, then I will do so.”

“If you care at all for the future of humanity on this continent, you will not give me to them."

“Then tell me something I can use.”

Lady Edelgard rests a petite, red gloved hand against her cheek, voice no harder or softer than when she began. Not for the first time Hubert finds himself marveling at Lady Edelgard’s mastery of herself, her nigh unbreakable composure. Even in the face of death. His heart lurches as he remembers those panicked moments when he thought he wouldn’t be able to warp to Lady Edelgard soon enough. Dimitri had broken through their ranks at Gronder Field, wielding Areadhbar as though he was the reaper himself. Even their own Death Knight could not compare to the unrelenting hatred and force of nature that was the delusional king.

Rhea stares at Lady Edelgard conflicted, her body trembling with the indecision.

“And if I answer your questions? You will still kill me in the end.”

“If you cooperate, perhaps we can arrange something.”

Rhea bows her head, locks of emerald hanging limply to cover her face.

“Do what you will with me. It is the only way I will see Mother again.”

She lets out a defeated sigh before looking up again.

“But I will tell you what I know.”

Lady Edelgard takes a chair from near the wall and sits in front of Rhea.

“Why do you fear Those Who Slither in the Dark? Who are they, really?”

It is in moments like these that Hubert truly appreciates how long Rhea has lived. The weight of all those years seems to suddenly age her. Her eyes are ones that have seen far too much.

“That is not the name that I know them by. They are called Agarthans. They have threatened the peace of Fódlan since ancient times. I thought that I had wiped them out during the War of Heroes.”

Lady Edelgard’s fingertips dig just slightly into the fabric of her corseted gown, betraying her irritation. Hubert would have missed it were he not so attuned to his lady’s mannerisms.

“How long will you maintain the lie that Nemesis was corrupted and turned to evil? I know the truth about the Relics. They were created by humans so that they might rule themselves. You manipulated the people of the world, named yourself Saint Seiros, and killed the King of Liberation. After eliminating the Ten Elites, you collected their Relics and pretended they were gifts from the false Goddess.”

Rhea suddenly grasps the bars with her bare hands, bringing her face close and spitting at Lady Edelgard. Hubert steps forward in alarm, dark magic swirling about him. Magical currents spark around Rhea’s hands but she pays no mind to the pain.

“You know _nothing_. The Agarthans, Nemesis, the Ten Elites… they murdered my entire family, almost annihilated the Nabateans! Innocent people, children, who wanted to live their lives in peace. The humans committed genocide simply so they could call themselves gods.”

Lady Edelgard does not flinch. Rhea finally releases the bars, her hands bright red from the burns and her sleeves smoking. Hubert releases his magic, but remains vigilant. He wishes Lady Edelgard would not draw so close to the prisoner.

“I understand more than you think. I once had ten siblings, eight older and two younger, and yet I became heir to the throne. Do you know why?”

Rhea glares balefully at Lady Edelgard, but remains silent as she slides to the floor, utterly spent.

“After the Insurrection of the Seven, we were all imprisoned down here, beneath the palace.” Lady Edelgard traces a hand over the doorway. “In fact, this cell was my own. I was only seven at the time. Most of my siblings did not possess a Crest and mine was only minor. The… Agarthans as you call them, wanted to create a peerless emperor, and so they violated our bodies by cutting open our very flesh. The blood experiments succeeded.”

Lady Edelgard holds her hand out in front of her and the Crest of Flames flares in her palm. Rhea reaches up as if she wants to touch it.

“A Major Crest…” Rhea whispers. Lady Edelgard nods even while her eyes fill with sadness.

“But the price was too high… All my siblings perished from their wounds or madness. I alone survived. Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

Rhea’s slumped posture on the floor is tense with wariness, but the anger seems to drain from her face. Hubert holds his breath, not trusting to hope that they might finally have a breakthrough.

“I swore to myself that their deaths would not be in vain, that I would build a world where such terrible things would never happen again.”

“A world without Crests or Relics,” Rhea says quietly.

“Exactly.”

Rhea laughs softly and gives Lady Edelgard a sharp smile.

“I’m beginning to understand. You knew you couldn’t topple the Church without help. So you went to the Agarthans, even after everything they had done to you, even after they killed Jeralt and Byleth, because you thought that overthrowing me was worth it in the end.”

They had agreed that they would not tell Rhea that the Professor was still alive, at least not yet. But Rhea’s point still stands. If only the Professor had stayed dead, then perhaps Lady Edelgard would have achieved her ambitions by now. He should have disposed of her when he had the chance. After the Professor’s transformation there could be no doubt who and what she was. But they waited and they hoped. Now see how their patience repays them. Hubert’s mouth twists in a bitter frown. At every turn there seems to be another inhuman foe to oppose them, to lead humanity astray. The Immaculate One incinerated nearly a hundred men at Garreg Mach alone. Even with Those Who Slither in the Dark’s assistance, Hubert despairs that the Children of the Goddess cannot be defeated.

“I will do whatever it takes the free Fódlan from your vile grasp.”

Rhea shakes her head.

“I… I know I have made mistakes. And it has cost many lives. But I am not responsible for the Heroes’ Relics and Crests. The Agarthans are.”

Slowly, Rhea pushes herself up off the floor and sits on the edge of her cot.

“A long time ago, the progenitor god Sothis and the first humans settled on this continent. Mother changed her form to resemble them, and gave her own blood to birth her children, the Nabateans. For centuries, we coexisted peacefully with the humans. We exchanged knowledge and skills with each other and built a prosperous civilization. The Goddess never ruled humanity. They were free to live as they chose in a land blessed with fertility. But it wasn’t enough. They wanted more. They wanted the power of the Goddess. No matter what they had to do to achieve it.”

The former Archbishop almost seems to shrink in on herself, shying away from her confession even as she tells it.

“They started a series of senseless wars until they challenged the progenitor god herself to battle. Mother tried to make peace with them, but they would not relent. The ensuing war scorched the land until there was almost nothing left, annihilating a majority of the humans with it. The Agarthans are the descendants of those who retreated beneath the ground.”

Lady Edelgard is enraptured, propping her chin up on one hand, her finger tapping the corner of her mouth.

“That explains why they are so pale and why they hate the Goddess.”

“Mother revived the land with her power, but it took an astonishing amount of time. It used so much of her magic that she fell into a long restorative slumber. Her children, we built the Holy Tomb to protect her while she slept and settled nearby in Zanado.”

Rhea closes her eyes and Hubert can see her shoulders beginning to tremble.

“Then the Agarthans found Nemesis. He was a thief, a leader of a lowly group of bandits. With their aid, he was able to plunder the Holy Tomb and stole Sothis’ body. They – they murdered her, ripped her spine from her body, and crafted the Sword of the Creator. When Nemesis appeared in Zanado, he wielded my Mother’s remains against her own children. Even now, I cannot forget the sight… of that massive canyon, painted red with blood. From that massacre they gained even more corpses. The Agarthans turned their hearts into Crest stones and their bones into the Heroes’ Relics and unleashed the Ten Elites. My brethren… It is their stolen blood that imbued humans with Crests. Sothis never gifted that power to the humans.”

Rhea opens her eyes and they are filled with tears. Lady Edelgard settles her hands in her lap, somber.

“So that makes you…?”

“I am the last child of the progenitor god.”

It’s the first time Hubert can recall the former Archbishop being so vulnerable. Her eyes look to them beseechingly, begging them to believe her. The implications of Rhea’s story are… staggering. Hubert can hardly wrap his head around so much information. His entire world has been turned upside down. Hubert is no stranger to unsavory compromises, bloody secrets, or dark magic. But at the moment, he feels quite nauseous. To think that all this time their army has been built upon a graveyard.

“Now you know why you cannot hand me over to them. With my magic they would be powerful enough to destroy the continent.”

“How were you able to defeat them the first time?”

Rhea shifts her arm to touch two fingers to her heart, something soft in the way she holds herself.

“With their newfound might, the Agarthans brought war to Fódlan once more. After Zanado, I wandered the continent, grief-stricken and alone, clinging to my desperate desire for revenge. I found… Wilhelm. He saved me. Supported me. Loved me.”

“Did he know what you really were?”

Hubert comes to stand by Lady Edelgard as he speaks. Rhea turns to him, but her gaze is far away.

“Yes,” she answers simply, “Though I was a different person then, young and naïve. Until the massacre at Zanado I had never even held a blade. Wilhelm gave his all to the cause of defeating Nemesis. I would never have succeeded without his unwavering loyalty. Together, we gathered the remaining humans and Nabateans. Finally, we killed Nemesis on the Tailtean Plains and I took back the Sword of the Creator. I laid my Mother to rest in the Holy Tomb once more and there was peace.”

Rhea pauses, before letting out a long sigh.

“Wilhelm and I… we had a child. The first heir to the Adrestian Empire.”

Lady Edelgard’s eyes widen.

“You were Wilhelm’s wife?”

Rhea tilts her head back, eyes falling closed.

“For a time. I let Saint Seiros disappear into myth and lived as just a woman. I was… happy. But eventually, I had to taste the bitterness of mortality. Wilhelm died. So did my son. The Adrestian Empire continued on under the rule of their descendants, while I withdrew. I admit, I did not cope with my isolation well.”

Lady Edelgard looks as stunned as Hubert feels.

“You and I… are related?”

In her outstretched hand, Rhea summons the Crest of Seiros.

“How do you think you came to bear my Crest, child? The war brought the Nabateans and our human allies close. I was not the only one to fall in love with a mortal.”

Hubert quickly follows her train of thought.

“But that would mean, all the Imperial Crests…”

Rhea nods.

“There is a reason why the Empire has no Heroes’ Relics associated with their Crests.”

For a long while, they remain watching each other, taking in the information. Finally, Lady Edelgard stands, a touch shaky. She takes a deep breath to calm herself.

“I am true to my word. I will not hand you over to Lord Arundel. We will speak of this more later.”

The walk back is long and awkward. Though Lady Edelgard’s stature is shorter than his, Hubert finds himself walking swiftly to keep up with her stride. As they retreat back to the surface, he hesitates to speak.

“Hubert, if you have something to say, please do so.”

“Do you believe Rhea?”

Her violet eyes sweep around to catch his, just the faintest hint of a tremble to her hand on the hilt of her blade.

“Not at first. But the way she recalled those events… Rhea would have to be an excellent actress to fake that.”

Hubert inclines his head in deference.

“Agreed. This information certainly changes our calculations.”

“I still believe it was right to topple the Church of Seiros. But perhaps we have lost sight of the more dangerous enemy.”

Lady Edelgard takes a shuddering breath and Hubert waits for her to continue.

“Thinking about all the damage the Church’s lies caused, it is difficult to feel any sort of sympathy for Rhea. I think I can understand, though, why she did it. There have been times where the nightmares of my siblings’ screams made me lose perspective. If I had been in Rhea’s position, I might have become a harsh ruler with a heart of ice as well. To be alone… for so long.”

Hubert folds his arms behind his back.

“You are not alone, your Majesty. I will always stand by your side. Please do not forget that.”

He can’t help the small bit of warmth he feels when Lady Edelgard smiles at him.

“My apologies, Hubert. I am truly lucky to have such a devoted friend and advisor. I hope you know how much I care for you.”

Hubert hums in agreement and she continues on thoughtfully.

“I used to wonder what path your life might have taken if you had never met me. I imagined a happier, more peaceful existence. But you seem to have found that for yourself regardless, even in the midst of war.”

Hubert blinks.

“Your… Majesty?”

Now the mischievous smirk becomes full blown and Lady Edelgard playfully smacks him on the arm.

“Oh come now, Hubert. Did you really think I didn’t notice you bouncing up and down waiting to see Ferdinand after the interrogations? I know you better than that, my dear friend.”

Hubert instinctively wants to deny it. He does not _bounce_. But Lady Edelgard fixes him with that look that brooks no argument, and the protest dies on his lips.

“We have more important things to deal with at the moment.”

Lady Edelgard sighs.

“Perhaps. But you can’t run away from Ferdinand forever, Hubert. None of us know how much time we have left.”

There’s the rub isn’t it? This time that he has with Ferdinand is a second chance he never thought he’d have. Soon. Hubert would tell Ferdinand soon. Once they’ve sorted out the invasion of Derdriu and Those Who Slither in the Dark. Then he’d have the time to properly court Ferdinand. That would be nice. Long rides together, tea and coffee, the kind of domestic bliss Hubert had never had the opportunity to experience. Perhaps Hubert would ask Ferdinand to travel to Brigid with him on holiday. Petra would be delighted to have them.

“I will give it some thought, your Majesty.”

As if he doesn’t already think of Ferdinand night and day. Lady Edelgard smiles again.

“That’s all I ask.”

Lady Edelgard loops her arm through his and they make the rest of their journey in companionable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI I may or may not post next week, the holidays are kinda busy and all that jazz. But I hope I’ll have a chapter next week!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empire accrues more allies. Sylvain asks Ferdinand for help. Sylvain, Felix, and Ferdinand delve into some church records.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!

**~Sylvain~**

As soon as their interrogations are done, Sylvain and Felix are whisked off to their new accommodations, an overly luxurious room that stands in stark contrast to their coarse existence on the road. Frankly, Sylvain feels like it’s too much. Plush carpet covers the floors and two floor-to-ceiling windows graced by velvet curtains look out over the grounds. He concludes it must be a diplomat’s room. Sylvain walks to the window, surveying the gardens. He picks out a few guards making their rounds along the wall. Give it a few days and they should have a decent idea of the guards’ schedule and their routes.

“Do you want to go first, or shall I?” Felix asks, gesturing towards a bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub.

Sylvain takes in the irritable edge to Felix’s voice and the creases in his brow. He looks like he desperately needs to be alone. Sympathy squeezes Sylvain’s heart. Felix has always been the more introverted one of the two of them. All of this must be overwhelming. He waves Felix on, smiling at the faint look of relief that washes over the swordsman. The sound of a tap being turned on provides some background white noise while Sylvain contemplates their next moves. The Imperial Royal Palace is far larger than he anticipated. If they want to have a prayer of surviving, they’ll need to know the layout like the back of their hand. He’ll start on that first thing in the morning. Turning back to their room, Sylvain does a thorough search. Magic is a secondary skill for him, but Ashe filled him in on the types of spying sigils he might encounter. Once he’s checked every possible place he can think of, he concludes that the room is safe.

Felix returns, damp hair clinging to his shoulders. Sylvain is in the middle of methodically going through their belongings to make sure nothing has been tampered with. He lays Felix’s swords out carefully on a table, smirking at the collection Felix has brought. With his levin sword, rapier, and wo dao, Felix is a one-man army. And that’s even before taking his magic into consideration.

Sylvain swaps with Felix, taking his turn in the bath. They may be deep in enemy territory, but at least they’re not on the run anymore. Sinking beneath the warm water, some of the ache of horseback riding fades away. On the countertop Sylvain can see Felix’s hair tie and his comb. He blinks back a sudden wave of emotion at the sight. Sylvain has never shared space with someone, not like this. Sure, on the road, it’s good sense to share a tent. But actually living with someone… He sighs, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. They’re not here to play house or find domestic bliss. They’re here to spy on the Empire, risking their lives for crucial information that could change the course of this five and a half-year war. Felix is sharing a room with him – sharing a bed with him – because they have to. It’s the only thing keeping them alive.

_The height of romance._

Toweling himself off and putting on a clean change of clothes, Sylvain feels even more tired than when he first stepped in the bath. Naïvely, he thought he would appreciate being able to spend so much time with Felix. Instead, it’s draining, constantly putting on a good show for their audience but afraid that he’ll cross some boundary with Felix he’ll never be able to take back. Deep down, Sylvain is terrified that Felix’s trust is the price he must pay to fulfill their mission. If it came down to it, he isn’t sure what he’d do.

Shuffling back out to the bedroom Sylvian sees that Felix is already under the blankets, a candle lit on the table. His weapons gleam next to his nightstand, freshly sharpened and polished. The scent of sword oil drifts across the room to Sylvain, a familiar mix of citrus and pine.

“Tomorrow I’ll head to the training grounds, see if I can find anyone worth their salt as a commander. Soldiers are just as prone to idle chatter as servants. Maybe someone will let something slip.”

Despite his previous worries, Sylvain laughs. Felix is nothing if not consistent.

“I can focus on the palace layout. I’m better at talking to servants anyway,” Sylvain says smirking, then promptly ducks under the pillow Felix throws at him.

“ _Idiot._ You can’t go flirting with half the palace staff and still pretend you’re in love with me!”

Wince. That one hurt. _How would you know Fe? I’ve done it my whole life._

“I’m not going to flirt with anyone. But you’re more likely to get answers out of someone if you’re smiling at them rather than scowling. Your style only works on soldiers.”

Sylvian doesn’t look at Felix or wait for a response. Instead, he snuffs out the candle and climbs into bed dejectedly. It’s his own fault that no one has any faith in him.

“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Felix says haltingly.

The bed dips slightly as Felix shifts but Sylvain remains facing away from him.

“It’s alright. Let’s just get some rest.”

Hubert already pushed Sylvain to his limit interrogating him. He doesn’t have it in him to fight with Felix too. The weight on Sylvain’s chest drags him under to a fitful sleep. They don’t even say goodnight.

The following morning Sylvain wakes up before Felix and slips out of their room quietly. Felix looked so beautiful with his blue-black hair fanned out beneath his face. Sylvain didn’t want to stay long enough to see it marred by him when Felix inevitably awoke.

Stepping out into the hallway, he lets out a low whistle as he looks around. The palace is the largest building Sylvain has ever seen. It could easily take all day just to go through it once. At this hour, it’s mostly servants bustling up and down the halls. No one bothers him with a second glance; they have more important tasks to see to. After a while, Sylvain falls into the flow of the people moving about, going from one room to the next. He walks through the palace for hours and still, there are more rooms to see.

Considering how breathtakingly beautiful each room is, perhaps his leisurely pace is not so strange after all. The more Sylvain sees the more it feels like he’s stumbled into the closest thing to heaven. Upon entering a long hall, a sparkle of light catches Sylvain’s eye. He’s drawn upward and is met with soft painted clouds and heroes of old gracing the vaulted ceiling. It’s nothing short of a wonder how detailed the faces are; the artist must have been very talented indeed. Expressions of joy, grief, and rage abound in the mid-battle sequence, flashing arrows in gold leaf arc through the air. Sylvain swears he can see the rippling muscles beneath the warriors’ armor as they bring their weapons down in a devastating swing. Even knowing the true nature of war, he can’t help but be inspired by the painting.

Just below it, Sylvain marvels at a row of crystal chandeliers. Each piece is like an individual star. They throw a glittering display of refracted sunlight over the room, almost as dazzling as fresh snow. He grows homesick at the memory. How long since they left Fhirdiad? Two months? It feels like a lifetime ago.

Castle Blaiddyd hardly compares. The magnificence in this room alone is probably worth more than the Kingdom crown jewels. Sylvain has never been ashamed of being from Faerghus, but his chest tightens thinking about how poor his country is compared to Adrestia. Even before the war they were struggling to grow crops and hold off bandits. Faerghus has never been the same since King Lambert died. As soon as they retook Fhirdiad, Dimitri began working himself to the bone trying to make up for lost time. Time his uncle, the Regent, wasted. Time when he was not himself. The crown weighs heavily on Dimitri. Sylvain sympathizes. He barely wants the duties of Gautier; he can’t imagine having an entire country on his shoulders.

_Dimitri isn’t alone though. He has all of the Blue Lions beside him. He has Byleth._

Sylvain turns to look at his reflection. The wall to his right is lined with mirrors facing the windows to his left. Blue sky extends on either side giving the illusion of an open-aired pavilion. He runs a hand over his cheek, feeling the ginger scruff. Sylvain hadn’t been able to grow a beard at the academy. Now he has to shave every few days to keep his face clean. A part of Sylvain wonders if it makes him look roguish. He chuckles, imagining what scathing remarks Felix would have to say about it. _“You call that a beard? You look more like a scraggly cactus.”_ The image quickly cures him of his homesickness. Returning to Faerghus means the end of his time with Felix. He knows it’s selfish.

Sylvain’s attention is suddenly drawn outside to a commotion in the courtyard. A battalion of flying units descends, wyvern riders and pegasus knights alike. At the center, an elaborately dressed figure dismounts a forest-green wyvern. He’s never seen a wyvern that color before, but he knows Claude also rides a unique white wyvern. Sylvain wonders if it is an indication of rank. As he watches, Edelgard emerges from the front of the palace to greet her new guest. The rider lifts their winged helm and long, braided magenta hair tumbles out before he recognizes her.

Edelgard and Petra embrace and bright smiles light up their faces. Petra’s hair is longer than he remembers, and in place of the armor he last saw her in, she wears light leathers embellished with strings upon strings of colorful beads. Sylvain slips outside and nonchalantly tries to move closer.

“Petra! You’ve returned. I trust your trip went well?”

“Yes. The Empire will be having Brigid’s support. My grandfather had much skepticism at first but trusts that I am knowing what I am doing. I have been crowned the queen of Brigid.”

Surprise colors Edelgard’s expression before she clasps their hands in earnest.

“You will be a remarkable ruler.”

“Together, Brigid and the Empire will be winning this war.”

Sylvain can feel the welcoming smile on his face grow tight. Shit. The Kingdom can’t afford for the Empire to gain a second wind from Brigid’s supplies and reinforcements. The island nation had held out for five years already without joining Edelgard’s war. He knew that Brigid became independent once Edelgard took the throne, but still. Petra must be very devoted to Edelgard’s cause to risk her soldiers like this. Sylvain projects an unconcerned aura even while he runs possibilities through his mind. Petra’s retinue begins to make their way to the stables with their mounts as the two rulers take a stroll to continue their conversation.

“Yet another country joins the fray.”

Sylvain turns to see Ferdinand approaching him, having also been watching the new developments. Weariness slips into Sylvain’s voice and he stretches to mask his anxiety.

“I thought we were coming to the end, but there’s always something else isn’t there? Five years and somehow we’re all back to the same positions we were in at the beginning.”

Ferdinand shakes his head ruefully, hand slipping off his hip in defeat.

“I do not think that Brigid will be any match for the Professor.”

“Maybe not, but we will still pay the cost in soldiers’ lives.”

“Then we must press on and complete our mission.”

Every time Ferdinand maintains his loyalty to their quest, a mixture of relief and guilt washes over Sylvain. He desperately hopes Ferdinand does not come to regret it, for his sake. Sylvain keeps his head facing forward and barely moves his lips as he speaks.

“Dimitri told us to look into church records before we left. He suspects Lord Arundel. The man used to be quite involved with the Church. Where can we find those?”

Dorothea appears and intercepts Edelgard and Petra in the garden. She gives both women a kiss on each cheek in greeting and Edelgard blushes a deep red, batting at Dorothea’s hands as they slip around her waist. Phantom featherlight touches brush Sylvain’s fingertips.

_“Then we can do whatever you like, Syl.”_

Ferdinand clears his throat.

“There is one remaining Church of Seiros on the main road leading to the palace. Edelgard repurposed all the gaudy cathedrals and their resources. But the humble ones that always did good work with the people she spared. They should still have their church records. The rest have been moved here to the archives. I can try to requisition them for you.”

“It won’t be suspicious?” Sylvain asks in surprise.

Ferdinand laughs. “I’m Prime Minister now. There’s nothing more natural than summoning two allied generals to my office to discuss important matters.”

That’s true. He wonders if Byleth planned for that all along. Ferdinand looks far more like himself, dressed in attire appropriate to his station. Sylvain loops an arm with Ferdinand, winking playfully.

“Good to know. I wouldn’t want to put you in a compromising position after all, late night visits to your study…”

Ferdinand merely rolls his eyes and pushes Sylvain off with a huff. Sometimes he forgets that Ferdinand is just as strong as he is.

“As if you would be the one I’d call for that.”

Sylvain’s mouth drops open as Ferdinand’s face quickly flushes, realizing what he said.

“ _Ferdinand!_ I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“That is – that is not what I meant! Gah! You are the worst, Sylvain.”

He reaches forward and taps Ferdinand’s nose knowingly. It only puts Ferdinand even more out of sorts.

“Well, if you ever do work up the courage, let me know. I am very knowledgeable after all.”

“That will not be necessary, thank you. And don’t start with me about courage.”

Sylvain kind of set himself up for that one. Ferdinand looks him over, eyes creasing with concern.

“Did something happen with Felix?”

Sylvain’s shoulders slump.

“Is it that obvious?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess.”

The dark knight slips his hands into his pockets and kicks at the dirt path, watching a pebble skitter down the way. He feels a hand at his elbow pulling him along. Sylvain follows Ferdinand, not entirely sure where they’re going until they stop in front of a café just outside the gardens. Ferdinand disappears inside, promising to only be a few minutes. Though it’s a small shop, it seems to be a hub of activity. The holy knight returns holding two cups and offers one to Sylvain. He sniffs at it, curious.

“It’s called a mocha. Hubert introduced it to me since he knows I dislike the bitter taste of coffee by itself. This has chocolate in it. I often find that a warm beverage soothes the soul.”

Sylvain takes a tentative sip, then another, finding that he likes it quite a bit. He sighs.

“I love Felix, Ferdinand. But anytime I try to show him that, or say anything to that effect, he thinks I’m mocking him. It’s like he can barely stand it when I touch him, even if it’s because we have to.”

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Ferdinand asks, tilting his head.

Sylvain laughs sardonically. Of course, Ferdinand would say that.

“You’re so straightforward and honest. I’ve spent my whole life convincing people of the opposite. Sometimes I wonder if I even know how to be genuine.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one you should ask for advice. I’d hardly describe myself as honest these days.”

Ferdinand gazes wistfully at his coffee cup as they start to walk along the street, passing window displays. A baker kneads some dough while pedestrians stop to watch them twist it into fantastical shapes.

“That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Ferdinand asks with a sad smile, “I chose this. No one forced me to come.”

“What you’re doing is for the good of the Empire. Eventually your friends will see that.”

“Hopefully, that will be the case. But I don’t know if Hubert will ever forgive me. I knew it was a possibility when I accepted, but I still came. I’ll have to live with the consequences of that decision.”

They come to a small river running through the city and Sylvain leans against the railing, looking down at a group of children sailing tiny paper boats along the water. Enbarr feels alive, a city full of promise. Bile rises in Sylvain’s throat at the thought that they might have to invade and shatter what little peace there is to be found here.

“What if I can’t do that? What if I tell Felix and he refuses me? What if he doesn’t believe me? What if… I lose my best friend? I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

Ferdinand gently wraps an arm around Sylvain’s shoulder and pulls him into a side embrace. Sylvain leans his head on Ferdinand’s shoulder, drawing comfort from his friend’s presence.

“Felix has been your friend since you were children. I think it is very unlikely that that would end, even if Felix did not reciprocate your feelings.”

“I can’t risk the mission. It’s hard enough for us to keep this up as it is. I don’t want to make it harder. I don’t – I don’t want to be selfish.”

Sylvain feels Ferdinand’s chest rise and fall as he sighs, his warm breath suffusing through Sylvain’s hair.

“It’s not selfish to want someone’s love. But you will never find it if you keep carrying on like this. Being genuine requires vulnerability. It’s a leap of faith; you must trust that Felix will not let you fall. I cannot tell you what to do. I cannot tell you what to say or when you should say it. I cannot guarantee that Felix will respond well. But you will never know until you try.”

The dark knight pulls away, bowing his head.

“I know.”

Ferdinand tilts his head up to look at him, face kind but serious.

“We’re fighting a war, Sylvain. I should have died at Myrrdin. There are things I should have told Hubert before I left. Do not wait until it is too late.”

Sylvain blinks, torn between the desire to shove all his yearning down until he can pretend it doesn’t exist and allowing himself to actually imagine a future with Felix.

_A knock sounds at his door and Sylvain rouses himself to answer it. Byleth is standing in the doorway, a tray of food in one hand and a compress in the other. She proffers the compress towards him._

_“I thought it might help with your shoulder pain while it recovers.”_

_He brightens._

_“Thanks Professor! It’s not too bad. Manuela told me I’d be cleared for service starting next week.”_

_Her face remains troubled. Byleth spends a lot of her time with that expression lately._

_“You got hurt protecting me.”_

_Sylvain frowns._

_“I wasn’t about to let you die. You’re the heart of the Blue Lions. I… I look up to you.”_

_A twinkle appears in Byleth’s eye as the corner of her mouth twitches upward._

_“I thought you wanted to kill me?”_

_He groans._

_“I was being really stupid when I said that. It wasn’t fair to you. The things you’ve gone through because of your Crest… Even if that wasn’t true you didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry.” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Sometimes I wonder if I’d had the guts to run away from home, if I would have cared as little about my Crest as you.”_

_Byleth’s brow wrinkles._

_“You didn’t have the courage?”_

_“No… But if I thought I could have escaped, I would have tried.”_

_Just another one of his many failures. Byleth reaches forward to touch the gauze bandaged around his shoulder._

_“You got this scar fighting for me. I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for. Your fate is yours alone, Sylvain. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”_

Sylvain’s mouth runs dry just thinking about confessing his love for Felix. But if he ever wants to live the life he wants, he needs to stop running away. Easier said than done.

“Thank you, Ferdinand. I will tell him when the time is right.”

Ferdinand smiles radiantly.

“I look forward to it.”

The next day Sylvain takes Felix along with him to the church. Despite knowing it’s what they’re there for, Felix still grumbles as the two of them head out onto the thoroughfare. Apparently, he’d sparred with Caspar the day previously and the blue-haired general had challenged him to a rematch.

“He’ll still be there tomorrow, Felix.”

“I was getting good intel. Caspar is in charge of the forces at Fort Merceus.”

“He just told you that?” Sylvain asks in disbelief.

Felix snorts.

“It’s not that hard to figure out, Fort Merceus is in Bergliez territory. But no, he wasn’t all that interested in talking to me, just sparring. The man is simple but not stupid.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Syvlain asks.

“No, just Caspar. No one else seemed important enough to bother with.”

_That leaves one of the Black Eagles unaccounted for._

“I wonder where Lindhart is.”

“He didn’t say. I figured it was too obvious to ask outright,” Felix replies.

Sylvain reaches back into his memory to his military history classes, pulling at a vaguely familiar thread.

“Isn’t Fort Merceus known as the Stubborn Old General?”

Felix nods grimly.

“It’s a fortress city for them, on par with Arianrhod as a stronghold.”

“We’ll need to take that if the Kingdom army is going to invade Enbarr.”

“You would think that they’d be sending reinforcements there to fortify their border.”

“But?” Sylvain prompts.

“The Imperial army is on the move, Sylvain. Why would Caspar be in Enbarr if he’s supposed to be defending Fort Merceus? I don’t know any of the details just yet, but something is happening.”

“Petra just returned from Brigid. She’s queen now and she’s throwing all her support behind Edelgard.”

Felix scowls, striding forward even more aggressively.

“If we didn’t have the Professor on our side, we’d all be dead by now. Just when it feels like the tides are turning in our favor, the Empire pulls more allies out of thin air.”

 _This isn’t good. We’re not prepared for another invasion._ They’ll need to move faster, get information and get out.

“Come on,” Sylvain says, leading the way.

The chapel is quiet when they enter, only a few citizens and several nuns going about their business. Unlike Garreg Mach, there are no majestic stained-glass windows or angelic paintings. It is a simple structure, not even an altar at the front, only a space for someone to stand before the wooden pews. The place seems practical to a fault, no space wasted. In a small courtyard, Sylvain can see a monk playing with some orphans that must live here. No one pays them any attention as they slip into the church’s small library.

They split up the shelves in their search. It’s not large, but it will still take time to go through them all. Sylvain runs his fingers over the book spines, reading over the titles, some familiar, some not, before reaching a stretch of tomes marked by years. He pulls one out curiously. It’s a list of donations to the church, arranged alphabetically by the donor and recording the amount. Sylvain flips through until he finds Arundel’s name.

_Volkhard von Arundel, 10,000 gold_

He glances at the year, 1162. Putting it back, Sylvain grabs the next and then the next. Every year Arundel consistently donated the same amount. Sylvain reaches 1174 and frowns when Arundel’s name is nowhere to be found. He checks the next few years with the same result. It seems that for some reason, in 1174 Arundel suddenly decided to stop his annual donations. Sylvain thinks back. The Insurrection of the Seven occurred in 1171. The Empire was in political turmoil, that was why the late king kept his marriage to Lady Patricia a secret. It’s possible that House Arundel’s fortune ran out for a few years. But based on the record, Arundel’s donations never resumed, even after the Empire stabilized.

Sylvain shoves the record books into Felix’s hands, pointing out the relevant information while he tries to piece everything together. This was the time that Arundel fled to the Kingdom with Edelgard, despite the fact that he was also involved in the Insurrection. According to Dimitri, he was never aware that Edelgard was his stepsister then and his stepmother never saw her. The swirl of subterfuge and mystery makes Sylvain’s head spin. He didn’t even know Lady Patricia was Dimitri’s stepmother until recently. Sylvain’s memories of her are hazy, but he recalls she was quite secretive. It makes sense in retrospect. He grimaces thinking of Cornelia’s last words, that Lady Patricia had somehow helped orchestrate the Tragedy of Duscar.

Felix holds two volumes, comparing them against each other before shutting them with a snap. He stares thoughtfully at the books.

“Remember what Dimitri said about Cornelia? That one day she had a sudden change in personality? Everything about her was different, her likes and dislikes, her mannerisms, everything.”

“She must have been like Tomas and Monica,” Sylvain concludes, follows the thread of Felix’s thoughts. “They were… replaced at some point by Solon and Kronya. And Arundel too, with his sudden cease in donations. Dimitri doesn’t know his uncle very well, but prior to that he was apparently a pious man.”

“Dammit, how many people have they replaced!?” Felix swears angrily.

_Face-stealers… They’ll turn us against each other one by one and we won’t even realize it until it’s too late. I guess it worked; we’re at war._

An idea begins to form, and Sylvain pulls out more stacks of records.

“Fe, we can use this. They’re replacing people in strategic positions, right? That’s gotta include a bunch of nobles. What if we can use the church records to identify people who have turned? We can check donations from individuals across years and see if any stop suddenly.”

Felix eyes the tomes uncertainly, arms crossed.

“That’s going to take an age to get through.”

“Ferdinand will help. He said he could obtain the rest of the records from the archives. It’s worth a shot at least.”

Sitting at a table, Felix pulls one of the stacks towards him. Sylvain eyes his daunting stack. Flipping over the first one, he uses a piece of parchment to keep track of where he is on the page. _Frederick Eames. Clara Eddie. Metodey Eichmann_. Sylvain flicks his eyes to the end of the line. _500 gold_. The year is 1176. Metodey stops giving donations in 1180. Sylvain adds his name to the list they are compiling. The name rings a faint bell. He remembers they fought in the Holy Tomb but he escaped with Edelgard and Hubert. It seems that even Edelgard’s inner circle has been compromised. Well, Sylvain isn’t even sure compromised is the right word. It’s possible she’s well aware of the face-stealers in her ranks, given her current alliance. Felix and Sylvain work together for several hours, records spread across every available surface. A stack of parchment steadily grows higher as they write notes about potential replacements. Sylvain glances over the rest of the tomes. These records deal only with Imperial donations, but hopefully the archival records will cover the Kingdom and the Alliance as well.

It grows too dark for them to continue. The two of them head back separately to avoid drawing attention. Felix safely tucks away their notes inside his coat and slips away. Sylvain watches in fascination. He’ll never understand how Felix manages to be so stealthy, even if he knows Felix spent some time fighting as an assassin. Sylvain returns to their room taking the hall of mirrors route, curious how the setting sun would change the lighting of the room. It’s cloudy, and the sky lights up in a soft glow of pinks and oranges that give the hall a warm tone.

“Enjoying your stay?”

Sylvain startles and turns to see Edelgard at the end of the hall, watching him. He has to admit, she wears the mantle of Emperor well. Her calm but authoritative demeanor betrays nothing; Sylvain can’t read her expression.

“Your Majesty, I didn’t see you there.”

Edelgard’s gaze sweeps over the room then back to him. She makes her way towards Sylvain, boots clicking softly on the tiled floor. Though Edelgard only comes to his shoulder, he still feels as though she’s looking down at him. Not condescendingly, merely a reflection of where he is in the social hierarchy. She gestures around her.

“Someday after the war I want to open this up to the public. All this magnificence belongs to the people as well, not just me.”

“Are you interested in art?”

“Not exactly.” Edelgard tilts her head back to look at the ceiling. “But it reminds me how truly amazing humans are that we can create things such as this. We are capable of great violence, yes. But at our best, we breathe life into remarkable works that reflect our creativity, our genius, and our spirit.”

It’s been so long since Sylvain has felt that way about other people. He and his friends have been subjected to so much hardship, their lands gripped by such scarcity, that the very idea of imagining Faerghus at the peak of prosperity feels alien. That is in no small part a result of fighting against the Empire. Perhaps Sylvain should feel resentment, but in that moment he only feels sad.

“Did you know that the artist who painted this was a commoner?”

He shakes his head.

“I want to give every person the opportunity to achieve this for themselves. To pursue whichever calling they wish.”

What would Sylvain pursue, if he was given the chance? Various professions and hobbies flash through his mind before finally coming to a halt at Felix. A world in which he could court Felix with no expectations and no duties.

“I’d like that,” Sylvain says.

It’s hard to reconcile in his mind, this Edelgard, full of determination to seek justice, with the Edelgard he faced at Gronder Field, willing to sacrifice anyone in her way to achieve her vision. Then again, it’s hard to reconcile the Dimitri who blushes at the slightest mention of impropriety, who cares too much, with the haunted, brutal, and revenged obsessed creature he continues to struggle against. Both are the real Dimitri. Both are the real Edelgard. Sylvain almost wants to laugh. They’re far more alike that either would probably admit. Then again, they are siblings. The thought immediately darkens his mood.

“Would you?”

He nods, unsure how else to respond to that. Edelgard still eyes him keenly.

“I recall our days at the academy. You rarely trained, spent your free time bedding anyone who would have you, and generally made a fool of yourself. You can imagine my surprise when you and Fraldarius appeared on my doorstep.”

“Mistakes of my youth,” Sylvain replies evenly.

“I doubt it. You’re brilliant, but you’re so afraid of the potential responsibilities that you’ll do anything to convince people not to entrust them to you. Those were deliberate decisions, not mistakes. I don’t suffer fools, Gautier. I wouldn’t have allowed you to stay if I thought you were one.”

Sylvain’s heart speeds up with anxiety. The Imperial Princess is perceptive, too perceptive.

“I was afraid. But I’m not anymore.”

“The Imperial army is no place for cowards. I would hate to find that my good will was wasted.” Edelgard turns to him, hand on her hip. “I saw you here yesterday, when Petra arrived.”

Sylvain stiffens, but Edelgard waves his concerns away.

“It’s alright, the courtyard is hardly a private venue. But I noticed Fraldarius was not with you. Curious.”

“He was at the training grounds. You know how Felix is.”

Sylvain tries to give Edelgard an easy-going reassuring smile, which she pointedly ignores. Regardless, her intense, icy gaze thaws somewhat.

“Indeed. I often find myself pulled away by my duties when I would rather spend my time with Dorothea.” Edelgard sighs smiling, a touch melodramatic. “Someday. Soon, all of Fódlan will be free.”

“I’m happy for you.”

He really is. Sylvain and Dorothea weren’t close back at the academy, but he remembers how much she wanted to find love. It was the one thing they had in common. The sentiment seems to surprise Edelgard for a moment, her tone becoming warmer.

“I hope you and Fraldarius find happiness here as well.”

Then just as quickly, Edelgard is frigid once more.

“I would hate to have to drag you beneath the palace again.”

“Y – yes, your Majesty,” Sylvain stammers out.

Edelgard flicks her wrist, clearly dismissing him. He gives a short bow and retreats as quickly as he can.

_Beneath the palace. They likely have a dungeon down there, like Castle Blaiddyd._

It might be worth their time to find out what prisoners of war Edelgard is keeping hidden. Sylvain can think of one in particular that they’ve been searching for since the war began: Rhea. What does the Church know about the face-stealers? There’s so much they’ve been keeping secret. Seteth told them some of the truth, but he’s protecting something. Rhea disappeared after the Battle for Garreg Mach, but her body was never found and the Empire hasn’t made any announcements regarding her death. So, either she’s in a restorative coma like Byleth was, or the Empire captured her. He has an uneasy feeling that it’s the latter.

A soft pitter patter of rain begins to tap against the building. The light has faded but Sylvain estimates that he still has an hour to search for the entrance to the cells below the palace before it would be too suspicious to be up and about. Searching through church records went fine, but he’s not sure he wants to face Felix at the end of the day just yet. Sylvain slips into the flow of servants again as they begin to clean up for the day and turn in. The weather turns as the heavens begin to release a torrential rain. A thin crescent moon slowly rises into view, barely more than a smudge of light through the heavy rain driving against the windowpanes. Sylvain continues to descend until he reaches the lower levels and the windows disappear. Lit candelabras provide some light inside, flickering and dim as it is. Only half of the holders are filled. It’s the first time Sylvain has really seen evidence of the war’s impact on Enbarr. They’re saving candles. He needs to be quick. Sylvain has no business being down here. He makes a full circuit of the floor. No luck.

He’s heading back to the staircase when Felix intercepts him in the hallway, furious.

“Where have you _been?_ It’s been hours!”

“I got held up by Edelgard. Look, I think there’s a good chance that she’s keeping Rhea down here somewhere,” Sylvain explains quietly. “We should find her.”

“How do you know she’s here?”

“It makes sense. Where could Rhea have been all this time? Besides, we already know she has cells beneath the palace.”

Felix clicks his tongue.

“Well, alright. But we need to come back when we have a plan.”

“We should ask Ferdinand. He might know.”

Felix grouses irritably.

“We need to get back. We can’t talk to Ferdinand until tomorrow anyway.”

Cheery whistling sounds down the hall and an absent-minded servant appears with a douter, systematically extinguishing the candles. They flatten themselves behind a column. Darkness follows the servant as they move further down the hall, the bright tune fading off into the distance. A loud crack sounds outside and thunder rumbles past them. The hairs on the back of Sylvain’s neck rise. They’re not alone. He turns back to Felix but the swordsman has already noticed. Hubert has just come round the corner at the end of the hall, one hand lit up with ghostly purple flames. They have to pass Hubert to get back to their room. He seems to be lost in thought, reading a missive in his other hand. But he’ll see them soon. Sylvain begins to panic as Hubert draws closer when Felix suddenly seizes his hand, spinning him around before grabbing his chin and pressing their mouths together.

“Hmph – !”

Sylvain is pulled off balance and falls slightly before catching himself against the wall. Felix is stiff, messy and unpracticed, seemingly under the misconception that kissing is simply lips being forced together.

_For the love of Sothis._

Sylvain pries Felix’s hand off his face and moves it to his hip while simultaneously twisting his fingers into the hair at the nape of Felix’s neck. He tugs until Felix parts his lips in an involuntary gasp, the sound sending shivers down Sylvain’s spine. Taking advantage of Felix’s momentary surprise, Sylvain deepens the kiss, languidly running the tip of his tongue along the curve of Felix’s mouth. Felix’s eyelids flutter and he melts into Sylvain’s embrace, pliant in his grasp.

Wrapping his other arm around Felix’s waist, Sylvain brings them chest to chest. He licks into Felix’s mouth, tasting the salt on his skin and feels Felix’s grip on his hip tighten in response. Felix’s other hand comes up to wrap around his shoulder, curving him down and around the swordsman. When Felix nips at his lower lip, Sylvain’s chest rumbles with amusement at the renewed aggression. He fists the back of Felix’s tunic, pulling him back slightly to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Sylvain rasps out, his voice ragged, “ _Fe_.”

“Shut up,” Felix growls before yanking Sylvain’s head back down.

Sylvain can barely think straight with the sensation of Felix’s soft lips slotted between his own, unyielding in their attempts to assail Sylvain’s senses. He might have lost himself in the moment if it weren’t for anxiety pounding in his chest, reminding him of their situation. A disgusted noise sounds behind them.

“Are the rooms we provided you not to your satisfaction?”

They break away, Sylvain gasping. Felix looks slightly dazed. Hubert stands behind them, with an unamused sneer on his face.

“No, um, they’re great. We’ll just be going then, back to them… now…” Sylvain manages to respond sheepishly.

“See to it you don’t go on any more detours. This is the Imperial Royal Palace. Treat it as such.”

Hubert gives them one more condescending glare before continuing. They wait several minutes to make sure he’s actually left.

“Quick uh… quick thinking,” Sylvain says, rubbing the back of his neck, his whole body on fire.

“You looked like you were about to faint,” Felix snorts, but there’s no bite to it.

Sylvain tilts his head back, his brain still not quite processing what just happened.

_Goddess, I want to kiss him again._

Felix clears his throat.

“We should head back, before we’re discovered again.”

He grabs Sylvain’s hand and roughly pulls him down the hall and up the stairs. The whole time all Sylvain can think about is the pressure Felix has around his wrist, pressing down on his racing pulse point. They get to their room and Sylvain has to restrain his impulse to shove Felix up against the door and kiss him senseless again. The swordsman refuses to look at him, finishing his nightly routine at record speed with a violence that Sylvain should frankly not find as arousing as he does.

_Boundaries. Keep to the mission._

He repeats this over and over until his heart calms to a reasonable tempo. But once they’ve both turned in and the room is dark, Sylvain allows himself one wicked grin before falling asleep.

_Felix kissed me first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me every chapter: Can they kiss yet?
> 
> Chapter 11: YES FINALLY


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert takes Ferdinand to the opera. Ferdinand, Sylvain, and Felix discover the truth of the Relics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward, I'm going to post on a bi-weekly schedule. I love writing this fic but there's just no earthly way I can update once a week with the semester starting.

**Chapter Twelve:**

**~Ferdinand~**

With Hubert’s help, Ferdinand slips back into his position as Prime Minister. It’s going well, all things considered, but it will take more time just for Ferdinand to even begin to understand the Empire’s current status. Their armies are a mess and they’re losing ground on every front. In the wake of the Empire’s defeat at the Great Bridge of Myrrdin, Count Gloucester withdrew his support and the Alliance is now united under House Riegan. Currently, Caspar is tasked with invading Derdriu before the Kingdom has an opportunity to join forces. If they lose Derdriu, they lose the war. Maybe not immediately, but the Empire’s defeat would be inevitable.

On top of that, Ferdinand is collecting information for Felix and Sylvain. An entire corner of his office is now occupied by volumes upon volumes of church records covering Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. He has to admit, tracking those who have been replaced through their donations is a stroke of genius. He’s spent the last few nights combing through them until the early hours. Ferdinand stifles a yawn and takes a sip of his tea. He’s been relying more and more on the mild caffeine to keep him awake as of late. Hopefully, between the three of them, they should be able to complete this task within the week. Already they have suspects within the Empire, the foremost of which is Lord Arundel, the Regent to the Empire himself. How could Edelgard possibly let this happen? Ferdinand’s skin crawls just thinking about what face might lie beneath the cruel Regent’s smile. He wonders if Edelgard already knows.

When he started this mission, he wanted to find out who the Empire’s allies really were and what they were capable of. Ferdinand has been Prime Minister for five years, so of course he knew that the Empire contracted with various groups for support. But in his naïvety, Ferdinand assumed that the reason why Hubert was always in charge of negotiating with this particular group was because, as a mage, he was the most qualified to command them. Now he speculates just how much Edelgard and Hubert have been keeping from him all this time. It harkens back to their initial betrayal in the Holy Tomb. They spent almost a year at the academy with all their classmates and Hubert and Edelgard kept their true ambitions secret until the last moment. What would they have done, Ferdinand wonders, if the Black Eagles had refused to follow them? His heart hardens. Edelgard does not tolerate obstacles. She has made that abundantly clear over the course of the war. They’ll discover the truth soon enough. And then… and then he doesn’t know. Ferdinand sighs, setting aside the report he’s been reading for the last hour, barely absorbing anything.

“Long day?” 

A familiar voice drawls behind him and Ferdinand smirks when he turns to see Hubert leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. 

“You know as well as I do how utterly soul crushing the endless paperwork is, even if it’s necessary. Besides, you’re the one that keeps contributing to the stack on my desk.”

Hubert takes in the pile of tomes on his floor, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not responsible for that one.”

“I had a theory.” Ferdinand comes to stand by Hubert. It would have been impossible for him to gather material from the archives without Hubert noticing. Instead, Ferdinand loops Hubert in as though that had been the plan from the start. “While I was in the Kingdom, I overheard talk that Cornelia’s entire demeanor had shifted out of the blue one day. I believe she may have been replaced, like Tomas and Monica.”

Hubert leans down to pick up one of the volumes. Ferdinand watches him closely, taking in how his face is carefully arranged. He knows those features better than almost anyone, and he knows the difference between eyes creased in approval and caution.

“I fail to see how records from the Empire and the Alliance are relevant to that theory.”

“Surely she’s not the only one? Sudden changes in mannerisms could be documented in church donations.”

“I see.”

Hubert straightens and gives Ferdinand a small smile.

“Do let me know if you find anything worthwhile. I admit, I’m curious about this theory of yours. Perhaps I’ll make a good spy of you yet.”

Even as Hubert’s smile rings false Ferdinand can’t help the flutter of pride he feels at the sight.

“Well, there’s quite a lot of material to go through and I still have the duties of Prime Minister. I’m considering asking Felix and Sylvain for assistance.”

Hubert scowls, recoiling at the mention of their names. Ferdinand fervently hopes he hasn’t overplayed his hand. Hubert always taught him that the first rule of espionage is to stick to the truth as much as possible, lest you contradict yourself later amidst the lies.

“Surely there are more suitable candidates you can ask? I found them skulking around the lower levels of the palace the other day.”

“Oh? What were they doing?” Ferdinand asks in surprise.

Felix and Sylvain had not told him this. Hubert flicks his eyes away from Ferdinand, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks. Ferdinand blinks. He can’t remember the last time he saw Hubert truly embarrassed.

“I may have interrupted the beginnings of a dalliance.”

Ferdinand almost spits out his tea, knocking his cup over and pounding his chest with a fist to clear his airways as he coughs. The image of Hubert stumbling across such a private moment sears itself into his mind and he represses the urge to laugh. He wonders if Sylvain decided to tell Felix the truth after all and this was the happy result or simply another cover.

“In the hallways of the _Royal Palace_?” Ferdinand asks, voice rising several octaves in disbelief. 

In truth, Sylvain’s impropriety surprises him not one bit, though he’d bet on the stables first before the palace.

“It had not… gotten very far, thankfully,” Hubert grinds out through his teeth, flushing further into a crimson hue. 

Ferdinand almost takes pity on him. Almost.

“I am grateful your innocence has not been besmirched.”

Hubert’s head whips around to face him, full of righteous indignation. Ferdinand grins at him, hopping up to sit on his desk with his legs crossed cheekily. Hubert groans, dragging a white gloved hand down his face.

“I thought you cared about decorum. Clearly your time in the Kingdom has changed you.”

Ferdinand keeps his grin plastered on his face even as something squeezes around his heart painfully.

“Come now. It was all in jest.”

Hubert snorts softly.

“I’m glad I was a source of amusement for you. Given Sylvain’s… _proclivities_ , perhaps this is to be expected. Though I wonder what they were doing down there.”

Hubert’s hands tighten around each other behind his back. Ferdinand fights to gain control of himself, seesawing between amusement and anxiety so quickly it’s giving him whiplash. Reaching into his coat pocket, Hubert retrieves a kerchief and offers it to Ferdinand who gratefully mops up some of the tea he spilled.

“Is there – _ahem_ – another explanation?”

“There’s nothing down there for them to find. But trust is not in my nature,” Hubert muses. “Perhaps asking them for assistance is wise. You can keep an eye on them.”

Ferdinand crumples the kerchief in his fist, having dirtied it far too much to return in this state. There it is again, that trust that Ferdinand spent so long painstakingly cultivating. It’s almost too easy to gently nudge Hubert into giving him oversight over Felix and Sylvain. Were he anyone else, Ferdinand is sure Hubert would see through his blatantly transparent cover. He feels distinctly unworthy of the token of friendship in his grasp. Hubert softens.

“Enough about them. I came here to rescue you from boredom.” 

Ferdinand arches an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“Dorothea and Manuela have written an opera singing Her Majesty’s praises, detailing her rise to Emperor and her ceaseless fight for justice. It’s set to open tonight, and I thought you might be interested.” 

“A bit premature, don’t you think?” Ferdinand asks skeptically. “The war is not yet over.” 

Hubert gives a dark chuckle. 

“Indeed. But I cannot begrudge Her Majesty small pleasures, especially not where Dorothea is involved. I seem to recall you telling me once that you never missed any of Manuela’s performances as a child. It should please you that she’s returning to the stage." 

“True enough. We must find joy wherever we can,” Ferdinand replies softly.

He banishes grim thoughts of betrayal in favor of Hubert’s offer. A night at the opera. Ferdinand smiles widely. What more could he ask for? Hubert cuts a dashing figure in his dark tunic, black cape and white gloves. Fidgeting with his cravat, Ferdinand straightens his clothes and smooths them down so as to be presentable next to his handsome mage. Not that Hubert cares about appearances. He doesn’t even try.

“Are you done preening?” Hubert asks. “We’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”

Ferdinand shoots him a glare but refrains from commenting. He would hate to miss the beginning of the show.

The Mittelfrank Opera House is one of Enbarr’s greatest jewels, in Ferdinand’s opinion. The intersection of breathtaking architecture, moving drama, and rapturous song is pure art. It’s built in a colosseum style, with the stage extended out in an arc into the audience. As Hubert leads him to the upper level to their box, Ferdinand can hear the orchestra beginning to warm up, a pleasant cacophony of string instruments occasionally interrupted by the brass. Their seats are some of the best in the house, second only to the royal box. A wave of nostalgia washes through him as Ferdinand sinks into the familiar red crushed velvet seats. It was here he first found inspiration to lift a sword, listening to the heartfelt cries of the performers as they clashed in battle onstage. 

Ferdinand takes a moment to look over the program while Hubert busies himself securing their location. He always did this, wherever they went. At first, Ferdinand was insulted that Hubert didn’t think he could take care of himself. Knowing him better now, Ferdinand finds it sweet. It’s Hubert’s way of showing he cares. Glancing to his right, Ferdinand is unsurprised to see Edelgard in the Emperor’s box. Should anyone attack Edelgard, their box is placed perfectly to come to her aid. 

It’s also a warm night in Enbarr. Now that they’re in the privacy of their box, Ferdinand removes his gloves and gauntlets, setting them beneath his seat and rolling his sleeves up. A younger Ferdinand might have lectured him on noble conduct. Now, after everything he’s seen, he knows life is too short for ridiculous inconveniences. 

The lights begin to dim, signaling the start of the show. Dorothea steps out onto the stage, almost unrecognizable beneath the very convincing white wig and regal costume. This Dorothea is cold and fierce, unyielding in the face of obstacles. Only a talented songstress like her could ever hope to do Edelgard justice. 

The rest of the theater goes dark as spotlights train on the stage. Hubert finally sits beside him, one leg crossed as his hands rest in his lap. He looks relaxed for once. Contentment fills Ferdinand as he sits forward, enraptured by the singing. This is nice. Hubert is here beside him and he is in one of his favorite places in the city listening to a dear friend sing. The war seems far away, despite its depiction onstage. Ferdinand’s heart stutters in surprise as Hubert leans forward with him, resting his forearms against the railing, their elbows almost touching. After a moment, Ferdinand shifts slightly, closing the distance. The soft fabric of Hubert’s jacket brushes against his bare skin. Hubert doesn’t look at him, but he also doesn’t move. Ferdinand smiles slightly to himself as he returns his attention to Dorothea leading a battalion of soldiers into the fray.

There is no romantic subplot as the opera goes on. This is shocking, in fact, given that Ferdinand knows Dorothea’s favorite kind of opera is a dramatic romance. Especially in light of their public engagement. But as the story continues, as Edelgard takes her first steps towards her destiny, working tirelessly behind the scenes to prepare the way towards a brighter future, Ferdinand understands. It is a romance. Every time Edelgard denies herself companionship, forgoes the delights of youth, and pushes herself harder than anyone her age ever should, it’s a declaration of love. Ferdinand can hear the clear wistfulness in Dorothea’s song, the longing for a normal life, one denied to her due to her position. And yet she forges on, fighting to make a world where everyone can live a long and peaceful life. Edelgard loves her people. There is nothing she would not do to save them. 

It is a beautiful performance and Ferdinand finds himself tearing up as the actors take their final bows. Hubert finally moves away as they give Dorothea and the rest of the company a standing ovation. Ferdinand grasps his belongings and the simple bouquet he brought and stands to head backstage. Hubert exits with him before telling him to go ahead. 

“Her Majesty wishes to speak with me. I will be there shortly.” 

Ferdinand nods and navigates through the crowd to find the leading actress. Dorothea is in the midst of removing a full face of makeup, heavy blushes and exaggerated eyes so that even those in the back can see her facial expressions. He sets his modest offering in one of the few empty vases surrounding her station. The whole room is filled with the scent of hundreds of flowers. 

“My congratulations! That was simply magnificent, Dorothea. Will you be returning to the stage full time now?” 

She smiles, uncharacteristically shy, pink dusting her face.

“Oh no, I cannot fully take up singing until this war is won. But I… This was my gift to Edie. It’s so hard for her to trust people, to allow anyone into her isolated orbit. I wanted to show her how beloved she is by her citizens. We fight out of adoration, not obligation.” 

“I am happy for you. Who knows?” Ferdinand winks. “Perhaps we can convince Her Majesty to marry you sooner rather than later yet.” 

Dorothea giggles. 

“Oh shush, Ferdie, you’re such a tease. Do you really think so?”

There’s something achingly vulnerable in her eyes. Ferdinand gathers up her hands in his.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Edelgard as happy as she is when she’s with you. You must know that.”

“I do, but sometimes it still feels fantastical. Even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined I would be standing beside an empress.”

Dorothea pulls out one hand and walks her fingers up his sleeve.

“Don’t you have a certain marquis to woo?”

“What? I have no idea what you mean.” 

A mischievous grin creeps across Dorothea’s face. 

“Ferdie. Darling. Are you really going to let that tall, dark, hot cup of coffee slip through your fingers?” 

He really is, isn’t he? He can’t imagine that at the end of all of this Hubert will ever invite him to the opera again. Ferdinand bats her hands away, stammering.

“It is – it is complicated! And don’t you dare meddle, Dorothea,” he warns, finger pointed accusingly.

“Of course, I won’t! What do you take me for, an amateur? Besides, you have more than enough charm to wrap Hubert around your little finger.”

The surface of the sun is cooler than Ferdinand’s face. He makes for a quick exit.

“Congratulations on your performance. I must find Hubert again.” 

“Say hello to Hubie for me!” she calls after his retreating back.

Hubert is nowhere to be found backstage or on the lower levels. Ferdinand makes his way back up to the now mostly empty upper level searching for him. Their box is empty. Where could he have gone? It is unlike Hubert to disappear on him like this. Ferdinand heads towards the royal box, as Hubert mentioned needing to speak with Edelgard. As he approaches, he can just barely make out whispers drifting out from behind the heavy curtains.

“Lord Arundel, this is not the location we agreed to meet at.”

Ferdinand can hear Hubert’s voice, low but hard and dangerous still.

“Uncle, what are you doing here?”

Edelgard is there too, displeased by the sound of it. Another voice emits a bone-chilling chuckle that seems to reverberate against the corridor walls.

“My dear niece, is that any way to speak to me? The location you chose was much too far out of the way.”

“This is far too public!”

“ _Exactly._ It keeps you in line.”

Ferdinand stiffens. Lord Arundel. Or his doppelganger at the very least. He has always been an unpleasant man, but Ferdinand has never heard him speak to Edelgard this way before, as though he was in a position to command her.

“Step away from her.”

“Minister von Vestra, always so eager to play the guard dog. You need me. As much as you hate it,” Lord Arundel drags out his words with clear delight, “you still need me.”

A tense silence follows and Ferdinand leans in a little closer, doing his best to be stealthy. Edelgard breaks the quiet first.

“ _You_ lost Fhirdiad, not us.”

She emphasizes the distinction and Ferdinand knows for certain that Arundel is not merely an Empire noble. And Edelgard is painfully aware of that fact.

“Cornelia was weak. She should never have fallen to such worthless creatures.”

Hatred and disdain drip from his words. Ferdinand is left unsure whether the hostility is due to their status as enemies or something else entirely. Even Edelgard speaks better of her opponents.

“What manner of magical construct did she create? Such a thing should not exist.”

Ferdinand had only seen the aftermath, the ruined, twisted, metal shrapnel scattered in the streets. But he had heard them. There could be no mistaking the ground-shaking footfalls of those mechanical monsters, even from the safety of the encampment outside of Fhirdiad.

“And yet, you are about to ask me if any remain, aren’t you, von Vestra? Are Demonic Beasts no longer enough for you?”

_Demonic Beasts? When did we start fighting with those? Can they even be controlled?_

A memory flashes before his eyes, Demonic Beasts rampaging at the chapel in Garreg Mach. He cut one down only to watch in horror as the beast slowly evaporated away leaving the broken body of a fellow student.

And later, Ferdinand tried to defend the Holy Tomb from the invading Imperial forces, before they knew the Flame Emperor was Edelgard. The soldiers ransacked the caskets, greedily stealing the crest stones laying within. Lady Rhea’s voice commanding them to kill the intruders, it was full of fury, but fear too.

_Oh Goddess, that’s what they wanted them for._

“Any aid you could offer us would be greatly appreciated.”

Ferdinand can only imagine Hubert’s expression as he spits out words through clenched teeth. To be forced to grovel at this man’s feet and beg for scraps… It’s so unlike Hubert that Ferdinand cringes listening to it.

“Unfortunately, the schematics for them have disappeared. We may be able to replicate them, but it will take time. They certainly won’t be ready in time for your assault on Derdriu.”

The words are apologetic, but Arundel revels in their apparent need and misfortune.

“Though,” he continues with honeyed words, “you know exactly how to get the power that you need.”

“I will not hand Rhea over,” Edelgard cuts in sharply.

They have Rhea. Hubert told him she was never found after the initial battle for Garreg Mach. That must have been a lie.

“You’ve held onto that foul beast for over five years with nothing to show for it. Let me have her and your enemies will tremble at your feet.”

“You will not touch a hair on her head unless I say so. Am I understood?” Edelgard says.

But even in her command, Ferdinand can detect the tremble of fear, as though there are consequences for her defiance that she has already experienced. Arundel catches it too. Ferdinand can almost hear him leering at her.

“I live to serve you, of course, Flame Emperor. I only want what is best for you. Besides, it is beneath you to soil yourself with that creature when you have all the power you need within your own body.”

“It will not be necessary to take Derdriu.”

“Why do you hold back? You are our greatest creation. We used the defiled beast’s blood as the fuel to your flame, that you may burn even the gods. All so that you may acquire the strength you need. All for a purpose…”

_What on earth did they do to Edelgard? Why is she so afraid they’ll take Rhea?_

“I will bring about Fódlan’s salvation. But there will be no redemption for you and your kind. Those responsible for such gruesome deeds in Duscar and Enbarr.”

The piercing cry of the Professor as she held her father in her arms echoes in Ferdinand’s ears. They were responsible for that too.

“Careful, Edelgard. It would truly be a shame if the Empire became another Ailell.”

“I will not lose. Not to the Kingdom. Not to the Alliance. And certainly not to you.”

Arundel merely laughs Edelgard’s threat away as if she were no more than a child.

“Then perhaps you can make your assault on Derdriu alone. I wonder how you’ll do. My dear niece, you play at war and convince yourself that makes you an Emperor. Everything that you are, I _gave_ to you. Do not forget that.”

Any laughter drains from Arundel’s voice then.

“The next time I ask for the Immaculate One, you will not say no.”

Ferdinand shudders, horrified by what he’s hearing. He takes a step backward and trips on a stair behind him. A muffled yelp escapes between Ferdinand’s fingers as he clamps a hand over his mouth. The voices cease suddenly. Then a rustling sound. Not wanting to wait to be found, Ferdinand makes a frantic escape down to the lower levels and outside of the opera house, mingling in the crowd. Doing his best to hide his trembling, Ferdinand dons his gloves and gauntlets again and tries to breathe deeply.

_It can’t be true, it can’t be. Everything the Kingdom ever said about Edelgard, about the Empire. We’ve made allies out of monsters._

Another thought stops his heart cold.

_Hubert knew._

“Ferdinand.”

Hubert’s voice calls out to him and Ferdinand turns to see him making his way through the crowd.

“There you are. Apologizes for the delay.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Her Majesty merely wanted an update on our campaign against Derdriu.”

Hubert’s bright green eyes are calm, his posture sure, not a single waver in his voice as he lies directly to Ferdinand’s face. There’s an awful sinking feeling in Ferdinand’s stomach as all the contentment he’d felt watching the opera is forcibly wrenched from his soul.

_Was there ever any trust between us? Or were you always playing me for the fool I was?_

It feels like there is broken glass in Ferdinand’s throat as he smiles at Hubert.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight. It was wonderful. Dorothea also told me to send you her regards.”

“I am glad that you enjoyed it.”

It’s long past dark now, but magical streetlamps provide enough light to see. Hubert turns to him with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eye.

“Let us return to the palace, shall we?”

For a moment, it looks like Hubert is going to offer him his arm. But Ferdinand doesn’t think he can stand such a gesture right now, so he quickly starts down the path. An hour ago, Ferdinand would have been over the moon to cling to Hubert’s arm on a nighttime stroll. Now he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

_What a mess._

It’s almost a relief when Sylvain and Felix arrive at his office the following morning. Goddess knows Ferdinand needs the distraction. Sylvain takes in the teetering stacks of books and lets out a low whistle.

“This might take a while.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve already discovered that fact. I’ve gone through these,” Ferdinand says gesturing at some of the piles. “But there’s still quite a few to do. Seems Fódlan has quite a few nobles,” he finishes dryly.

“There’s commoners in here too,” Felix points out.

Ferdinand nods. “Yes, but generally the suspects we’ve found are nobility, unless they’re particularly well-to-do. They are looking for positions of power to manipulate. I think I’ve found a pattern that can help us search faster. The records are sorted alphabetically by last name, by territory, and by rank. Nobles are listed first. If we limit our investigation to those records, we can finish much faster.”

Sylvain unrolls a map of Fódlan. They’ve marked every location with a suspected replacement with a red dot. The map is uncomfortably crowded. Sylvian frowns.

“How can we prove we’re right? Solon and Kronya looked human until they chose not to. Besides, not donating to the church isn’t a crime.”

“I do not know,” Ferdinand admits.

“They practice dark magic. If we learn how their magic functions, perhaps we can dispel it as well,” Felix states, tone clipped. He gestures at the army of red across the continent. “The only problem is, we have no idea where they’re from, or what is the source of their magic.”

Ferdinand leans against his desk, palms flat on the surface. _The source of their magic…_

“Edelgard and Hubert met Lord Arundel last night.”

Felix and Sylvian look up at him curiously.

“Were you present?” Sylvain asks.

“No, I overheard them. But given the way he spoke to Edelgard and how she regarded him, I think our suspicion is correct.”

“But Edelgard knows?” Felix demands roughly.

“She fears him. He – they – whoever these people are – did something to Edelgard, something he said gave her power that she refuses to use. I fought by Edelgard’s side for five years. There is little she would not do to win this war. For her to refuse this is troubling.”

“Great.” Felix throws his hands up in the air. “More experimentation. Are we sure these people are different from the Church?”

“Lord Arundel loathes the Church,” Ferdinand disagrees. “It is why he has been such a close ally of Edelgard’s during the war.” He sighs. “That’s not all. Edelgard has possession of Rhea. Lord Arundel is keen to get his hands on her. That was the reason for the meeting. Edelgard refused. I do not know where she is being held.”

Sylvain props his head up with a fist, deep in thought.

“Edelgard mentioned cells below the palace. Could she be held there?”

Ferdinand shakes his head. “I’ve already made my rounds in the palace dungeons. I did not see Rhea.”

Felix snorts. The raven-haired swordsman looks at Ferdinand disdainfully.

“Do you really think they would keep the Archbishop in a cell next to all the rabble? The Empire hasn’t even acknowledged that they’re keeping her prisoner.”

More secrets. After everything Ferdinand heard last night, is it really so unbelievable that Hubert and Edelgard would keep Rhea in a location secret to him?

“Hubert would know where,” Ferdinand admits, “but I cannot see a way to ask him that would not be suspicious.”

Felix rolls his eyes at him. Despite finally convincing Felix that they could all work together, he clearly still doubts Ferdinand’s abilities.

“Don’t ask him. Follow him.” Felix glances over Sylvain next. “It should probably be me. None of you are trained to be light footed.”

Sylvain tenses.

“Fe, it’s risky. Hubert is well-versed in tracking. He knows when he’s being followed.”

“Yes, your stunt in the lower levels the other night was noticed,” Ferdinand remarks dryly.

He feels a small bit of vindictive pleasure watching the condescending swordsman turn a bright shade of red and avert his gaze. Sylvain folds his arms and snickers from the side.

“Unfortunately,” Ferdinand continues, “we may not have a choice.”

He hesitates, before pulling out his latest discovery. He stares down at the yellowed diary in his hands. Wilhelm’s diary. Ferdinand was in the process of gathering church records for Faerghus and Leicester when he came across it in the archives. He could hardly believe it: a primary source from the beginning of the Empire. If what this says is to be believed, they must not let Rhea fall into the enemy’s hands. Felix and Sylvian look up at him curiously. Gingerly, Ferdinand eases the parchment open and reads aloud.

_“Imperial Year 91_

_Here follows the account of Wilhelm I, Emperor of Adrestia._

_Fódlan has come under my dominion. Seiros struck the final blow that felled Nemesis and retrieved the Sword of the Creator. It will be hidden away, so that no others may be tempted to take up his mantle. The Ten Elites were annihilated, though their scions remain, an act of benevolence from the Goddess. Now we must begin the work of peace._

_The war is over. The Agarthans have finally been defeated. I cannot express the depth of my relief. When javelins of light fell from the sky, the Goddess’ power deflected them from Garreg Mach. Aillel however, will never be the same. The once fertile region is now a blistering wasteland. If the Agarthans had defeated us, I shudder to think what would have become of Fódlan._

_I know that they are human or once were, at least. But having seen their bone-white pallor and iris-less eyes, it is difficult to believe. What dark magics did they practice to twist themselves so? What could possibly be worth the cost? They allowed themselves to be consumed by hatred of the Goddess and her children until there was no light left. I am not sure if they know how to live for anything other than revenge._

_Sometimes, I wake in the middle of the night and find that Seiros is not beside me. I looked for her once and came across her in our personal armory, surrounded by the weapons the Ten Elites wielded. She has yet to decide what to do with her family’s remains. Perhaps she finds solace in the glow of life still emanating from their hearts. Unfortunately, they may still be needed in the world. Corrupted creatures still roam the land and everywhere there are still traces of the Agarthans. Ultimately, it is her decision. I wish there were a way I could ease my wife’s pain._

_Seiros led us to victory. I still marvel that amongst mortals I am the one she chose. I can only hope that I will be a worthy partner in return. The task ahead of us is daunting. Fódlan is fragile and it will take time to reunite it. We must find a way to move forward in a world where the Goddess has been slain._

_Seiros says her spirit still resides within the Sword of the Creator and that one day she will return. I do not think I will live long enough to see it. But for my wife’s sake, I hope that it comes true. I do not want her to spend an eternity alone.”_

Felix’s brow is creased while Sylvain gapes. Wordlessly, Ferdinand passes the diary over to them.

“The Sword of the Creator is Sothis’ remains?” Felix asks, face ashen.

“It would seem so. I believe that is true of all the Heroes’ Relics.”

“The Lance of Ruin,” Sylvain whispers. “I always thought it felt alive.”

As a younger man, the legendary weapons had fascinated Ferdinand. Now he has never been so glad to bear a Crest without a Relic.

“According to this, Seiros was not a saint given a divine revelation. She was Sothis’ daughter, an immortal being whose dearest wish was to resurrect her mother."

Felix narrows his gaze at Ferdinand.

“You think… that Rhea is Seiros?”

“I think it is a likely possibility. If so, she is far more powerful than any of us realized. The legendary saint that defeated Nemesis. Lord Arundel called her the Immaculate One. These… Agarthans created the Heroes Relics. Imagine what they could accomplish with Seiros’ magic.”

“And they had the power to destroy Aillel,” Felix adds, his face grim. “I grew up on stories of the Goddess’ wrath raining down on the region just south of us. Turns out that wasn’t the Goddess either.”

Sylvian drums his fingers on the tabletop.

“They’ve just been waiting, all this time. Wilhelm’s description matches Solon and Kronya. They must have been Agarthans.”

Felix gestures at Ferdinand, one hand on his hip.

“You said Edelgard refused them, right?”

“Yes, but I do not know if she can defy them forever. Lord Arundel seemed quite displeased.”

Ferdinand remembers his final threat. They cannot risk that Edelgard will fold. Sylvain claps his hands together, a devilish grin on his face.

“This means we’re going to have to pull off a jailbreak.”

Felix punches Sylvain in the shoulder.

“You were just getting on my case about how following Hubert is risky. Now you want to steal the Archbishop out from under Edelgard’s nose?”

“You will have a prime opportunity in a couple of weeks,” Ferdinand says.

Felix and Sylvain stop their bickering to look at him sharply. Shame floods through Ferdinand. He truly is a traitor to the Empire.

“The Empire is marching on Derdriu. All of the Black Eagle Strike Force is going. You will be left behind in the capitol. You will be able to break in to rescue Lady Rhea then.”

“And you were planning on telling us when?” Felix demands.

“I’m telling you now,” Ferdinand bites out. “I did not know when they were planning on invading until recently.”

Sylvain looks panicked.

“We have to tell the Kingdom. If the Alliance falls, we may not be able to hold out against the Empire.”

Ferdinand cuts him off.

“The Kingdom already knows. Now it’s just a race of who gets there first.”

“We only have two weeks to figure out how to get Rhea back to the Kingdom,” Felix snaps. “I’ll follow Hubert and find the entrance. We can go from there. In the meantime, we have to comb through the rest of these records.”

Sylvain hesitates for a moment, then nods. Felix looks at Ferdinand until he also assents, then pulls a record towards him wordlessly. Short and to the point. Ferdinand appreciates that about Felix. Too many words weave lies.

Weariness crashes over Ferdinand as they settle into the tedious work. They only have two weeks. Two weeks to save Lady Rhea. Two weeks to convince Edelgard to end the war. If the three armies clash at Derdriu, all hopes for peace will be lost. They cannot afford another Gronder.

Ferdinand must leave with the invading force to buy Felix and Sylvain more time. His disappearance would lead to a full-scale search. Ferdinand swallows thickly. If he fails to sway Edelgard, the Empire will execute him for treason. Either way, he has no intention of taking up arms against the Kingdom and the Alliance again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, tell me what you think in the comments!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix follows Hubert to look for Rhea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone I'm back! Sorry for being a week late, life happens, school is kicking my ass. I'm hoping to stick to my new schedule of posting every other Monday. I promise I won't abandon this fic though!
> 
> Hitting 60K words feels surreal.

**~Felix~**

Felix rouses himself in the early morning, just as the birds are starting to sing. He and Sylvain have shifted to different waking and sleeping times, passing by each other like strangers. When Sylvain smiles at him during their brief interactions, the warmth never reaches his eyes. It leaves Felix hollow. He’d seen Sylvain give that look to people before. He just never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

Still, Felix glances to his right to the familiar sight of Sylvain sleeping on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow.

_I’m sorry._

Two simple words, but everytime Felix tries to say them the words stick in his throat and he cannot utter them. He’s sorry for coming on this mission. For kissing Sylvain. For ruining their friendship. Felix thought he wanted Sylvain to touch him. But as soon as he did, Felix knew it was a mistake. Nothing could ever feel as good as kissing Sylvain felt. He could feel his self-restraint slipping away in that moment even as he knew he was too sharp, too angry, and too cold to be the kind of partner that Sylvain deserves. Felix doesn’t know how to be soft. That much was evident when they kissed. Self-loathing coils at the bottom of Felix’s stomach and he shifts to get out of bed. Sylvain groans, cracking open a bleary eye.

“What time is it?” Sylvain asks.

“Early. Go back to sleep,” Felix responds quietly, snagging his tunic from the floor and pulling it over his head.

Felix pads barefoot to the dresser, selecting nondescript Imperial clothes. He misses his Kingdom blue garments. Red isn’t nearly as flattering on him as it is on Sylvain. The clothes are supposed to help him blend in as he follows Hubert, but somehow Felix feels even more out of place wearing them. Unwelcome. Unwanted. Sylvain would probably have had more luck coming on this mission with Ferdinand alone. Instead, their cover might unravel because Felix has no idea how to be in love, much less act like it. Sylvain rubs his eyes and props himself up slightly.

“You’re going to tail Hubert?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful, Fe. Please.”

Something in Sylvain’s voice makes Felix look back. The redhead is frowning, eyes full of concern. Felix had had a close call the other day; Hubert almost found him perched outside his office. The sheet is half-draped across Sylvain’s bare chest, making him seem especially vulnerable in that moment. Felix can see the jagged scar stretching across Sylvain’s left shoulder from when he protected Byleth. A shorter silver line mars the skin between Sylvain’s neck and his collarbone. The stab wound he took for Felix. Much too close to Sylvain’s throat for comfort. Bitterness settles in Felix’s chest. Sylvain is always protecting everyone else. Felix can’t even protect Sylvain from himself. He’s not strong enough.

“Fe?”

Felix startles. He’s been staring.

“I’m always careful.”

The lines in Sylvain’s brow relax slightly, if not all the way. The corner of his mouth tugs upward and he offers Felix a chagrined smirk.

“I know. I still worry about you though.”

“You worry too much.”

Felix expected Sylvain to laugh, crack a goofy grin the way he always does and brush it off. Instead, Sylvain’s gaze lowers. Felix tracks where Sylvain’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Do I?” Sylvain asks softly.

_Yes. No. I don’t know._

“I worry about you, too.”

Sylvain’s eyes flick up to meet his, surprised. His heart aches at how little Sylvain seems to think he cares for him. As if Felix doesn’t always demand to fight next Sylvain because the only thing worse than watching Sylvain get wounded is the possibility that Sylvain might die without him by his side. That he might die _because_ Felix wasn’t by his side.

Sylvain’s expression turns fond. It’s gentle, too gentle for how Felix feels, barbed and poisonous. He hates making Sylvain worry. The weight of Sylvain’s caring suffocates him, never letting him forget for a moment that friendship is the most Felix can ever ask of Sylvain. And now he’s reminded why he’s avoided any real conversation with Sylvain for days.

“I have to get going.” Felix grimaces. “Hubert is probably already awake.”

Sylvain doesn’t call out for him as he leaves. Felix pretends he didn’t want him to. He tries to turn his thoughts to the mission as he heads to Edelgard’s quarters, Hubert’s first stop every day. He can’t think about Sylvain right now.

Felix darts behind a column just as Edelgard and Hubert step out of the Emperor’s rooms. Hubert takes one last look at Edelgard’s gown and her elaborately coiffed hair before giving his approval. He offers his arm to Edelgard and the two of them start down the hallway. As Minister of the Imperial Household and Edelgard’s personal advisor, Hubert is responsible for her safety, her correspondence, and her appearance. It is a very intimate role, one Felix can’t imagine serving himself. Hubert, however, thrives on it. He always leaves Edelgard’s room looking more at ease than when he arrived.

Today, they have a visit to a local war hospital scheduled. Felix quietly catches the door to the infirmary before it closes and slips inside after a doctor. He grabs a jug of water from a nearby table and pretends to be refilling patients’ glasses in the infirmary. He’s helped Mercedes in the medic tent often enough to play nurse. All of the windows are open, but the smell of death lingers, cloying and heavy. Narrow walkways thread through the crowded mass of beds. Felix hasn’t seen a hospital with enough resources for the injured in years. Edelgard begins to make her rounds of the wounded soldiers, reaching out her hands to anyone near her. They all want a chance to touch her, if only for a moment. Their hero. Their savior.

“Excuse me, sir, could I have some water?” a nearby woman croaks.

Felix turns to fill her glass quickly, not wanting to lose sight of Hubert, but pauses when he sees her. Gauze covers most of her body and her face. What little skin does peek out beneath the bandages is inflamed. He forces himself to breathe and pour slowly. The woman must have been cooked inside her heavy armor. Felix has witnessed the effectiveness of Sylvain’s fire spells firsthand. A wave of nausea washes over him, remembering that all that returned of Glenn was his armor and a sword. He sets the jug down and tilts the glass gently against her lips, giving her small sips until her thirst is satiated.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“How long have you been here?” Felix asks.

“A week or two? It’s hard to keep track. I haven’t always been… conscious.”

He glances at her records on the bedside table. She’s been here closer to a month. Age 32. Unmarried. No visitors. It doesn’t seem like her injuries have been healing very well either.

The woman brightens.

“The doctors said I can still fight for the Empire though! Some experimental program or something.”

Felix, who had started to search for Hubert out of the corner of his eye, snaps his attention back to her. He phrases his next sentence carefully.

“Most people would rather be sent back home after your ordeal.”

She shakes her head, wincing as it stretches some of her wounds.

“I don’t have a home to go back to.”

“Where are you from?”

“Remire.”

Felix freezes at the name.

_An older man stumbles as he tries to escape the rabid young woman lunging at him with a kitchen knife. Her mouth froths and a hysterical cackle rips its way out of her throat. A burning beam falls down in an explosion of heat and sparks, obscuring Felix’s view of them._

The woman doesn’t seem to notice Felix’s discomfort.

“I don’t have any family anymore. I would have been out on the street if it weren’t for the army. They gave me a place, a purpose. I owe everything to Her Majesty. Lying here every day, waiting to die, it’s excruciating. I’ll try anything they can offer me.”

The sheer desperation in her tone infuriates him. He’s no medic, but anyone can see that this woman will never recover. It seems particularly cruel to dangle a magical cure in front of her when there’s no hope.

“Has it worked on others?”

“A few of my friends took them up on their offer earlier. I wasn’t healed enough to take part at the time.”

“And it was successful?”

“Yes, they were able to fight at Gronder, though they fell there.”

Her eyes turn sad, then steely.

“It doesn’t matter if I die on the battlefield. At least I’ll go down fighting.”

Not a cure then. Just a temporary extension of life so they can remain useful. A look of adoration crosses the woman’s face and Felix turns to see Edelgard pause her procession near the center of the room. She raises her voice so everyone can hear.

“It is true that we have recently suffered defeats in the Kingdom. But that does not mean we are defeated! Even as I speak, preparations are being made for our next offensive. I know that you have all given much for our cause. I swear to you, your sacrifices will not be in vain. We will win this war and free Fódlan!”

Edelgard raises her fist in the air.

“For the Empire!”

Roars of approval meet her words, the patients’ morale reinvigorated. A few of them look ready to charge out onto the field that moment. The woman beams despite her pain.

Amidst all the attention showering Edelgard, Hubert lingers by a few soldiers’ bedsides. They seem the most clear-eyed out of those wounded. Happy to see the Emperor like everyone else, but more reserved. It’s too loud in the hospital to hear, but Felix sees Hubert exchange a few words with them. Hubert presses a hand to one’s shoulder, mouth set in a grim line. Felix has seen that look before. He’s worn it himself. Commendations for a soldier destined to die. He doubts they’ll last much longer. Felix glances at the dying woman once more.

“I hope you heal soon,” he offers her, then moves on.

Edelgard leaves to attend to her own business afterwards, while Hubert goes to meet Ferdinand. It’s easier for Felix to blend in at the Imperial tea garden. He orders a cup of four-spice blend. They don’t have his other favorite tea, Almyran pine needles, on hand. Those imports usually travel through the Alliance. Felix watches curiously as a servant sets a teapot and an Almyran coffee press down on Hubert and Ferdinand’s table. Rather than have the servants prepare their drinks, Hubert makes the tea while Ferdinand makes the coffee. They take lunch together. Felix can only remember seeing Hubert eating in the dining hall of the palace once since they’ve arrived. It was at an odd hour and he ate alone. But Hubert and Ferdinand’s dynamic feels too familiar and practiced to be anything other than routine. Times really have changed. The two of them used to hardly be able to be in the same room as each other.

Now they are the glue that holds the Imperial war effort together. As prime minister, Ferdinand manages the Imperial army, making sure they have enough supplies and determining where troops should be deployed. As the spymaster, it is Hubert’s job to communicate intelligence. It makes sense that Hubert would prioritize these meetings. A little girl skips up to their table and proffers a flower at Ferdinand. The prime minister takes it with a strained smile and the girl runs off again. Ferdinand unties the ribbon around the stem, glances at it, and then hands it to Hubert.

_Clever._

The girl must be one of Hubert’s little birds, bringing him information. Hubert gives no outward indication of the nature of the message, merely incinerates it with a sigil. Ferdinand twirls the flower between his fingers, thoughtful, before Hubert stops his hand. He takes the flower, a carnation, and threads it through Ferdinand’s lapel. It pairs with his maroon coat wonderfully. Hubert lingers on Ferdinand’s collar for just a moment too long before he sits back in his chair, all business once again. Ferdinand seems nonplussed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, then a radiant smile lights up his face. It reminds Felix of Sylvain, how happy he was when Felix gave him some candy that he didn’t want. Such a little thing.

Felix is surprised when, after finishing their meal, Hubert and Ferdinand head towards the training grounds. They meet with a couple of battalion captains who quickly shout out orders. Rows of mages and calvary line up in front of them. These must be their personal battalions. But rather than work separately, the two battalions train together. They divide into pairs and the atmosphere fills with the sound of crackling magic and lance meeting sword. Felix strides in confidently. There should be no suspicion of his presence here. It’s been a consistent haunt of his for as long as he can remember.

Ferdinand swings up into a saddle, flexing his wrist before twirling his lance experimentally. He lifts one hand off his lance for only a few seconds, tracing a simplified Nosferatu sigil before returning his hand to steady his weapon. Ferdinand’s magic is specialized for quick release so that he can maintain control of his weapon and his mount. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix catches sight of Hubert placing a hand on Ferdinand’s thigh to get his attention. The taller man barely comes to Ferdinand’s hip when he’s mounted.

_Felix’s hands grip Sylvain’s hips tighter, pressing Sylvain into the wall._

Felix grabs a training sword off the rack, violently shaking the memory off. Sparring is simple. No words, no feelings, just the clean lines of his blade that he can always rely on. As Felix goes through basic forms to warm up, he watches Hubert position himself on Ferdinand’s right flank and face off against another pair of battalion soldiers. Another pang hits his chest. It’s exactly how he and Sylvain fight.

Despite being apart for months, it’s clear that Ferdinand and Hubert can still fight in sync. A quick swipe of Ferdinand’s lance sends a swordsman stumbling back off balance, defense wide open. Hubert fires off a spell and they go down. They don’t look at each other. They don’t need to. Each knows exactly where the other will be.

_Thwack! Thwack!_

Felix’s blade thuds against the training dummy, knocking straw stuffing out with each blow. He needs to hit things so he doesn’t think about how he and Sylvain can barely exchange more than five words with each other anymore. Dinner is a painful endeavor passed in silence, even as they still eat together for appearances. But there was a moment one night, when Sylvain looked up at him with a curious expression, then reached across and wiped a napkin across Felix’s lip, brushing off some crumbs.

_The spread of Sylvain’s palm extends from the side of Felix’s neck to his cheek, tilting his head back at just the right angle to grant easy access._

Felix misses his next hit, distracted by the quickening pace of his heart. He huffs, angry at his rebellious thoughts and his lack of discipline, before readying himself once more. In the background, Felix sees Hubert blast a soldier off their feet with a long-range spell from across the grounds. Prior to learning black magic during the war, Felix had never had much cause to pay attention to the finer mechanics of the craft. Watching Hubert trace sickly purple sigils more closely, he realizes Hubert isn’t casting black magic at all. The air sizzles with a much darker energy and Felix recognizes it as the same aura that surrounded Cornelia.

While no one is paying him any mind, Felix tries to trace the dark magic sigil Hubert just used. As his finger moves the air seems to thicken, resisting his efforts to summon the magic. Ice creeps into Felix’s veins, warmth being drawn out of him to feed the spell. It becomes so difficult that Felix almost lets it go before an extremely faint purple glow lights up his hand. It dances wildly, licking up his fingers. With a shuddering gasp, Felix extinguishes it. Weak as it was, he barely had any control over it. He quickly decides against trying again. Without careful study and supervision, high-level spells can be extremely dangerous. Goddess, Felix wishes he was better at magic. Sylvain will have to be the one to learn how to manipulate dark magic to unmask the Agarthans. Even now, Felix struggles with the few spells he knows, whereas Sylvain has always excelled in magic. If he cares enough to try, Sylvain excels at everything.

_Sylvain’s tongue traces his lip, tasting him, savoring him. He pauses with a wicked grin, then strokes his tongue along Felix’s, making him forget how to breathe._

With a loud yell, Felix stabs his sword into the dummy. The tip embeds itself in the wooden stake, nearly ripping the weapon from his grasp. A rivulet of sweat trickles down the back of Felix’s neck and he clenches his eyes shut. He needs to focus. On the mission. On his training. Felix yanks his weapon out with a grunt.

_Warm breath tickles his ear as Sylvain pants Felix’s name._

His name and no one else’s. Felix swings.

_Wide caramel eyes._

All form is forgotten as the blade descends.

_Sylvain._

Felix’s Crest activates.

_CRACK!_

The training sword shatters in Felix’s grasp and the training dummy sags perilously to the side. He gasps for air as he stares at the broken hilt in his hand. Everyone in the training grounds is watching him. Hubert looks on in distaste but Ferdinand approaches.

“Shit,” Felix whispers as he bends down to pick up the wooden shards.

“Are you alright?” Ferdinand asks.

Felix waves him off.

“I’m fine. Just my stupid Crest.”

Ferdinand bends down to help him.

“You don’t seem fine.”

The words are stressed and when Felix looks up Ferdinand’s expression is guarded. Glancing past him, Felix sees that Hubert’s attention is still trained on him. Ferdinand presses the pieces of his sword into his hands.

“I think you should go back and rest.”

He opens his mouth to protest but reconsiders when Ferdinand gives him a warning look. One of the battalion captains barks out a curt order and the soldiers return to their sparring. Felix blew his cover for today. It will be impossible for him to follow Hubert any further without him noticing.

Felix moodily marches back to the palace, ashamed of his lack of control. As if they have time to waste. Ejected from the training grounds and without a task to accomplish, nothing can hold back thoughts of Sylvain anymore. Felix kissed him. Hubert was coming and there was nowhere to go and for some goddess forsaken reason the best plan Felix could come up with was _kiss Sylvain._

He wasn’t good at it. He had no grand delusions about his skill as a kisser. But Sylvain still had the audacity to look at him like that, breathless and in awe. It was only supposed to be a distraction, a sufficiently convoluted explanation for their presence below the palace to not warrant close scrutiny. Yet here he is, still dissecting every second of that moment like his life depends on it.

Sylvain is a good actor. He’s been playing his part ever since he was old enough to know what was expected of him. Sylvain didn’t kiss him back. He was making their cover believable. Hubert wouldn’t have been fooled by Felix’s pathetic fumbling. There’s absolutely no possible way that Sylvain Jose Gautier actually wants to kiss him. They’ve known each other their whole lives and not once has Sylvain ever tried to pursue Felix. Twenty-five years of flirting with anyone with a pulse. Anyone that is, except Felix.

The crazy thing is, kissing Sylvain _felt_ different. Genuine. Like maybe there was a reason to hope that Sylvain might love him too. Felix had grabbed Sylvain’s hand tightly and pulled him back to their room because it was the only way he could think to communicate the sheer force of everything he was feeling. But Sylvain didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything. Just kept shooting him pained looks.

Felix shuts the door to their bedroom, punching a pillow angrily before sinking into the bed. Everyone he loves leaves him in the end. Glenn. Dimitri. His father.

_Dimitri came back._

A small, hopeful part of him wanted Sylvain to be the exception as well.

Felix breathes in the faint scent of cologne clinging to the redhead’s side of the bed. It had been all over Felix’s clothes after the kiss, taunting him.

 _Quick thinking,_ Sylvain had said.

As if Felix had been using his brain at all.

What a fool he is.

Sylvain joins him in the dining hall a few days later while he follows Hubert once again. The spymaster is eating with other people for a change: Edelgard and Dorothea. Felix watches incredulously as the Minister of the Imperial Household takes a sip from his sixth cup of coffee that day. Sylvain sets a heaping plate of chicken smothered in cheese down in front of him.

“Gautier Cheese Gratin, your favorite. Honestly, I don’t know whether to be flattered or infuriated that they’re serving this at the Imperial Royal Palace.”

Felix’s mouth waters as he breathes in the savory dish. It’s one of the few pleasant memories he has of visiting Gautier territory as a child. Sylvain looks decidedly less ecstatic at the reminder of home. But he glances at Felix hopefully, clearly meaning the meal to be a peace offering. An apology rises to the tip of Felix’s tongue before all the accompanying emotions choke him again and his eyes drop down to his plate.

_Keep it together._

Sylvain sighs.

“How long are we going to do this, Fe?”

Felix stiffens, fork halfway to his mouth. He can’t look at Sylvain’s mournful face or something will break inside of him.

Keeping his voice neutral, he asks, “Do what?”

Irritation flickers across Sylvain’s expression and he glares at him. 

“You know what.”

Felix can feel the muscles in his face straining to maintain his cool mask. He can’t talk about this now. If they talk about it, that makes it real. Felix glances around, taking in the crowded dining hall, soldiers lined up out the doorways. Sylvain really wants to do this _here?_

“I’m busy,” Felix snaps, turning away to focus on Hubert again. 

The spymaster hasn’t moved. He feels ridiculous, clinging to this excuse when it clearly doesn’t require his full attention.

“Felix, c’mon, we need to talk.”

Anger flares. Why is Sylvain making this difficult?

“No, we really don’t.”

“Look, we had to. It doesn’t need to change anything--- “

Felix cuts him off. “Nothing’s wrong, Sylvain.”

A yawning abyss opens inside his chest and Felix doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. He desperately wants things to remain the same, to remain friends with Sylvain. But if Sylvain says it didn’t mean anything he might scream. Sylvain’s eyes narrow at him.

“I thought we knew what we were getting ourselves into. We _agreed_ to this, Felix.”

He knows. Goddess help him, he knows.

“Shut up.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You’re just going to shut me out like you always do?”

The bitterness in Sylvain’s voice claws at his ears. Guilt prickles the back of Felix’s neck and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _Stop._ ”

“Will you look at me?” Sylvain demands.

Felix does so out of reflex and finds himself transfixed by the burning emotion on Sylvain’s face, a mix of anger, hurt, and something he can’t name. It makes him feel like he needs to explain himself and that only serves to fuel the rage building inside of him. Felix snarls at Sylvain.

“I have more important things to do right now than coddle you. So either stop talking or _leave_.”

In an instant, the anger in Sylvain’s expression drains away and his face smooths. 

“Of course. The mission is the priority.”

Sylvain adopts an easy posture and when he smiles at Felix, it’s full of teeth. He shifts back to their loving façade so easily that it leaves Felix breathless from its cruelty. Felix takes in the way Sylvain’s chin is propped up and the fork dangling suggestively from his grasp and feels like he’s been slapped in the face. Everything about it screams fake. Felix can live with only being Sylvain’s friend. But he can’t bear being just one of Sylvain’s discarded flings. Sylvain gazes at him with a saccharine expression that on anyone else would be considered adoring, but it burns Felix to look at.

“I thought the two of you were attempting to look deeply in love,” Ferdinand says forcefully, shocking both of them out of their standoff before sitting across from them.

“We are,” Felix replies shortly, “long day.”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow and Felix feels himself flush under his knowing gaze.

“I take it Sylvain has yet to fill you in on our progress today?”

Sylvain laughs hollowly.

“I was just getting to it, Ferdinand, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Ferdinand looks less than impressed but Sylvain just smiles wolfishly at him. Shaking his head, he turns back to Felix.

“Sylvain and I finished compiling our list of possible replacements. It is,” Ferdinand pauses, searching for the words, “troubling to say the least. The Agarthans have a chokehold on every lever of power on the continent. And it seems that they are in the center of every destabilizing event in Fódlan of the last decade. The Insurrection of the Seven occurred shortly after they took control of Volkhard von Arundel. The Tragedy of Duscar swiftly followed Cornelia’s replacement. And we found evidence that some of Count Gloucester’s advisors were supplanted just before Duke Reigan’s son was killed. The official report said that it was an accident involving Demonic Beasts, but I think we can safely assume that official reports are no longer reliable. I can’t imagine that the heir to the Reigan dukedom died so conveniently just when the Alliance was starting to fracture.”

Felix hands stutter mid-cut in his meal, causing the cutlery to shriek against the plate as his swirl of conflicted emotions shifts their focus from Sylvain to Glenn. The Agarthans caused the Tragedy of Duscar. They’re the ones responsible for killing his brother.

“So, the Agarthans and the children of the Goddess have been engaged in a thousand-year-old blood feud and the rest of us have just been caught in the middle of it.”

Felix sneaks another glance at Hubert from across the room. He’s still eating, casually conversing with his dining partners. Felix’s fingers flex against the tabletop in frustration. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on Rhea right now and demand some answers. Why did she create the Church of Seiros? Are there other children of the Goddess still alive? What do they want? And why do the Agarthans hate them so much? What was so bloody important that was worth cutting Glenn’s life short?

“As difficult as it is to believe, yes.” Ferdinand’s tone is formal as always, but Felix can detect the slight tremble in his voice. “They are far more dangerous than we originally thought.”

“Then we have what we need to convince Edelgard. The Agarthans are a threat to all of Fódlan,” Felix bites out, before taking a deep breath to try and steady himself. It has little effect.

“No.”

Sylvain and Felix both snap their gazes to Ferdinand, who suddenly looks so weary Felix worries for his well being.

“It is not enough. The Agarthans have leverage over Edelgard, yes, but she has remained allied with them for a reason. She must believe that between the Church and the Agarthans, the Agarthans are a lesser and necessary evil.”

Felix bristles. “How can she believe that?”

“The Church, the Crest system, and the nobility have ruined countless lives,” Ferdinand grimaces, loathe to admit his part in that hierarchy. “She could have easily implemented her reforms in Empire territory alone. But the nobility and the Church are so entrenched in Kingdom and Alliance territory that she believes that war is the only way to truly rid Fódlan of their influence.”

Something in Felix’s stomach tightens unpleasantly, because there’s a grain of truth in that. He despises nobility, but even he couldn’t imagine a world without them before the war.

“The Kingdom, yes, but the Alliance?” Sylvain asks, shaking his head. “Claude never trusted the Church and he’s not particularly fond of the Alliance nobility. Edelgard would be better off allying with him. Invading Derdriu doesn’t make any sense.”

Felix had forgotten that Sylvain had actually spent time with Claude back at the academy. He’d never understood why. Felix disliked Claude’s scheming and he could never shake the uncomfortable feeling that no matter the situation, Claude always wanted something. But his charms had obviously worked on Sylvain, who always had time for a chess match between easy smiles and a flirtatious touch. The memory sets off something ugly in Felix.

Ferdinand’s gaze is cold.

“I’ve spent the better part of a week attempting to convince her of that to no avail. Edelgard trusts no one to make her dream a reality except for herself.”

The truth of that statement sobers the three of them. Perhaps their hope of ending this war without further conflict was always fated to be a pipedream. Ferdinand eats solemnly for a few moments before setting down his utensils.

“The week is coming to a close and we are no closer to our goal.”

They can’t afford to lose another day. Felix is restless. He can feel time relentlessly passing him by, bringing the Empire and the Kingdom ever closer to Derdriu. Felix supposes that in the event that they fail to find Rhea the three of them will return to their respective allegiances and war will resume as it had before. Friend against friend. Family killing family. And all he can do to potentially stop that outcome is to sit here and watch Hubert drink coffee.

“I will find Rhea,” Felix vows. Right now, the mission feels like all he has left.

When Hubert and his companions stand to leave the dining hall, Felix follows quietly. There’s a slight chill in the air as he exits out into the courtyard. His quarry stands illuminated by the light spilling from the dining hall. Dorothea wraps a hand around Edelgard’s arm, looking slightly unsteady on her feet. He snorts to himself. Perhaps singing isn’t the only characteristic Dorothea shares with Manuela. It doesn’t seem to bother Edelgard, though. The two of them bid Hubert a good night before excusing themselves to their rooms. Hubert heads towards his own quarters. Felix treads extremely lightly on the grass softened by evening dew, trying to keep him in view.

It’s a long night. Every time Hubert’s door opens and he leaves to do something new, Felix feels a flare of hope, sure that this time he will reveal Rhea’s location. But it’s simply to send a message or retrieve some more coffee from the kitchens. The staff have long gone to bed at this point. He wonders if Sylvain is still awake. Maybe he’s a coward for wishing Sylvain isn’t.

Finally Hubert does something different. Felix tracks him down the stairs, going lower and lower until he finds himself in a familiar setting. The answer to all his questions smacks Felix in the face with its obviousness and he bites back a groan. He’s so _stupid_. Of course it would be where Hubert caught them. Felix might have come to that conclusion earlier too if he wasn’t so hung up on his infernal feelings.

The windowless corridor flickers with candlelight, illuminating the long red runner carpet. He hadn’t paid much attention to the decorations last time he was here. Felix passes by stone column after column and glares at one, wondering if it’s the same one he shoved Sylvain behind. To his surprise, Hubert stops beside it. Some instinct tells Felix to hide at that moment as Hubert suddenly whirls around.

Barely breathing, Felix remains flattened behind a column as he listens for Hubert’s footsteps. As gently as he can, Felix eases his dagger out of its sheath. Silence continues before finally Hubert huffs under his breath. Felix dares a glance around the side and finds Hubert facing the wall away from him. As he watches, Hubert pricks his finger, smears it on the wall, and then presses his hand to it. A swirling purple and black star-looking sigil flares before an entrance reveals itself in the column next to him. Hubert descends down the stairs and the doorway reseals itself.

_This must be it._

Felix waits several more minutes to make certain that Hubert is far enough away before investigating the wall. Even knowing which column hides the door, he cannot tell from the outside. There is no thin line indicating that it is not a solid stone. Turning to the brick that Hubert activated, the only sign it might be different is that it is not quite as flush with the wall as the rest of them.

Felix pricks the pad of his thumb with his dagger, then drags it over the brick. He watches curiously as the blood drains away without a trace. But when Felix presses his hand against it, nothing happens. The star sigil does not reappear. It must respond to Hubert’s blood alone. Based on its coloration, it’s likely a dark magic sigil. Felix narrows his eyes warily. His last attempt at dark magic was disastrous. But Ferdinand and Sylvain are relying on him for information and they only have a week.

Once again, Felix closes his eyes and reaches within for the energy to sustain the spell. It fights him, wanting to spiral off in different directions, but Felix forces it into submission. He reaches out and channels some of the faint purple energy into the wall. No effect. The spell fades away leaving Felix feeling completely drained. Black spots gather at the edges of his vision and for a moment he fears he’ll pass out in the hallway. When the fainting spell passes, Felix finds himself leaning heavily against the wall. Lucky. It saps some of the glow of victory. He hates relying on chance.

Sylvain is waiting for him when he returns, a candle flickering on the nightstand.

“I found it,” Felix says before Sylvain has a chance to speak. “We need dark magic and Hubert’s blood to open the entrance.”

Sylvain searches his expression for something, but Felix has no idea what he’s looking for.

“We can talk about that tomorrow.”

“Then why are you still awake?”

Felix sits on the edge of the bed and unlaces his boots mechanically, in stark contrast to the adrenaline pulsing through him.

“For you.”

Sylvain fidgets with a corner of the sheet, worrying it between his fingers, eyes intent on the movement. Felix is struck speechless. Two simple words. When Felix doesn’t respond, Sylvain lifts his gaze uncertainly.

“I miss you. We spend our days surrounded by enemies, the last thing I want to do is come back and fight with you.”

Felix sighs. Why are words so difficult for him?

“I don’t mean to.”

“Then why…?” Sylvain asks helplessly.

He looks at Felix with such pleading eyes that he finds himself understanding how easy it is for people to say yes to this man.

“I’d never… I’d never kissed someone before,” Felix admits. He hates how small his voice sounds.

“Never?” Sylvain asks softly. He doesn’t say it condescendingly but Felix still flushes from embarrassment and stares at the floor.

“No, alright? Now you know.”

The bed dips beneath Felix as the sheets rustle and warm arms reach out to wrap around him. It’s familiar. Felix finds himself relaxing against his better instincts. For once, there’s no audience, just the two of them. Leaning into Sylvain, Felix realizes how touch-starved he is. Touches that don’t promise death are rare these days. Sylvain rests his face against the back of Felix’s right shoulder and sighs.

“I’m sorry. That it happened like that.”

It’s been so long since they’ve had a moment like this. He recalls the last time Sylvain embraced him like this. Glenn had just died, his father was useless, and all he could do was cling to Sylvain as grief poured out of him. Then he swore he’d never be so weak again. Felix shut Sylvain out and their relationship never quite recovered from it.

“Me too.”

It’s the only apology Felix can bring himself to give. The arms around him tighten and Felix is suddenly reminded of sledding as a child, the way Sylvain would hold on to him and the rushing feeling of his stomach in his throat.

“You’re my best friend, Fe. I don’t want to lose you.”

Felix lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. He thought maybe he’d ruined this. Felix squeezes Sylvain’s arm gently.

“I’ll always be your friend, idiot.”

Sylvain’s fingers trail over his elbow softly. It’s… nice.

“Even if I have to touch you?”

_Even if I want you to?_

“Yes,” Felix whispers. “Friends?”

Sylvain’s laughter shakes their bodies and Felix savors the sensation, loathe to remove himself from Sylvain’s embrace. 

“Friends.”

He feels the brief press of something against his shoulder that he imagines might be Sylvain’s lips, but he’s not sure. Finally Sylvain disentangles himself, though he keeps a hand on Felix’s hip, beckoning him.

“Come to bed. It’s late.”

When Felix slips under the sheets, Sylvain pulls him closer and Felix lets him. He can feel Sylvain’s warmth curling up behind him, one arm draped across his torso. Maybe it’s too intimate for friends, but Felix is not about to say anything. He’d missed Sylvain.

And if he pretends, for a moment, that Sylvain is his, no one needs to know.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert adjusts to life with Ferdinand again while simultaneously looking for the spy in their midst.

**~Hubert~**

Hubert knocks at Lady Edelgard’s door bright and early to get her ready for the day. The servants should have already delivered breakfast and freshly laundered clothes. Silence. Then shuffling before the door cracks open, revealing a yawning Dorothea in a night shift. Hubert averts his eyes upward and stands stiffly.

“Good morning, Dorothea.”

“Oh Hubie, there’s nothing scandalous showing. You can stop acting like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

Hubert exhales slowly through his nose and relaxes.

“My apologies, I simply wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. Where is Her Majesty?”

Dorothea leans back into the room.

“Edie!”

A soft groan emanates.

“I’ll be up in a moment, Hubert.”

Dorothea laughs mischievously.

“Sorry, Hubie. We had a late night.”

_Of all the ridiculous things to say._

Hubert prides himself on a meticulous schedule, one he used to share with Lady Edelgard. They have a public appearance in less than an hour together and Her Majesty is still barely roused from her bed. He fumes internally.

Dorothea is a brilliant mage, talented songstress, and one of the most hardworking and determined people Hubert knows. She has been an integral part of their war effort. There’s nothing that Hubert can find fault with. So he grits his teeth and bites back the scathing remark at the tip of his tongue. Dorothea makes Her Majesty happy. Lady Edelgard has had so little of that in her life it would be truly criminal to deny her the opportunity now. Even so, he finds it hard not to feel like he’s been replaced in some regard. He’ll always have Her Majesty’s ear and her trust. But significantly less of her time moving forward. It’s… an adjustment.

Eventually, a presentable Lady Edelgard opens the door for Hubert and ushers him in. Dorothea sits against the headboard of their bed, eating breakfast off a tray with a newspaper in her hand. Lady Edelgard seats herself at the vanity, running a comb through her long bright white hair. Hubert moves to take his usual place and notes that the complicated outer layers of her corseted gown have already been cinched and tied, though with a different knot than he usually used. Yet another reminder of a gesture taken off of his hands.

Lady Edelgard hits a snag in the lower third of her locks and winces slightly. Hubert takes the comb from her and teases out the tangle. For the time being, Her Majesty’s hair is still his domain. He threads her hair through his fingers as he starts to braid. Hubert is gentle, careful not to pull too hard, but holds the strands firmly to maintain the correct tension.

“I had a dream last night,” she says quietly. “A nightmare really.”

“About your siblings again?”

“No.”

A shiver runs through Lady Edelgard, though the room is quite warm.

“About Byleth.”

Hubert searches Her Majesty’s expression in the mirror. She looks conflicted.

“This path I’ve chosen… She could never have walked it with me. But I wish….” Lady Edelgard sighs. “There’s no point in useless wishing. The only thing that matters is the reality now.”

Dorothea slides from bed and kneels on the floor beside Lady Edelgard while Hubert continues to braid. He’s never shared Lady Edelgard’s belief in the Professor. She wields the power of the Goddess they wish to overthrow. She chose to lead the Blue Lion House. She sided with the Kingdom and the Church against them. And still, Her Majesty wonders what might have been.

Taking Lady Edelgard’s hand in her own, Dorothea places soft kisses on her palm and trails them down her forearm. Her Majesty sighs and cups Dorothea’s cheek.

“I chose to walk with you, Edie.”

Lady Edelgard keeps her hands intertwined with Dorothea’s and gazes at her. No more words pass between them, but Hubert can feel the tension in Her Majesty’s shoulders drain away. Despite his initial annoyance with Dorothea, Hubert finds himself grateful. He deals in logic, not comfort. But Hubert suspects that a reminder that the Professor could not betray them if she was never loyal to them would not be well received. He’s glad when Lady Edelgard changes the subject.

“Has Rhea given us any new information?” she asks.

The former Archbishop came to an uneasy truce with them, united with them in their opposition to the Agarthans. It is necessary, but Hubert cannot shake the feeling that the Empire is now caught between the two powers. Perhaps that has always been the case.

Hubert slides the golden horns of the Emperor into Lady Edelgard’s hair and expertly winds her braids around the crown to keep it in place. He swiftly pins the elaborate hairstyle in place, freeing his mouth of hairpins and ties.

“She has begrudgingly explained the Nabateans’ shapeshifting powers. It seems that most of them at this point can only inhabit one form or the other. Rhea is the sole exception. She believes that the Agarthans have isolated and corrupted this power to disguise themselves. If that is the case, we may finally be able to unmask Agarthans with ease.”

Those Who Slither in the Dark will be dragged out into the sunlight kicking and screaming. And Hubert will take great pleasure in doing so.

“Good. The time is fast approaching when we will dispense with their aid. We will need every advantage we can obtain.”

If they are successful at Derdriu, the Alliance will fall, and with it, hopes for the Kingdom’s resurgence. Scouts have already been sent ahead to prepare their path. The scale of preparations required to march the bulk of the Imperial Army from Enbarr to Derdriu is immense. Hubert has thought of little else for the past few weeks. Every decision counts. He and Ferdinand have painstakingly planned out the route their army will take. Though the Kingdom defeated the Empire at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, they had to withdraw their troops to Fhirdiad to retake the capital. As it stands now, the bridge is being held by Gloucester, but they do not have the power to withstand the Imperial Army. In fact, Hubert’s spies have reported that Claude is drawing the bulk of his forces back to Derdriu and ordering outlying regions to stand down as the Empire approaches.

Even so, Hubert finds himself second-guessing his decisions. Did he choose the correct path, or will their army be ambushed on the Great Bridge of Myrrdin? Should they carry supplies necessary to lay siege to Derdriu and risk the Kingdom arriving first, or potentially run out of food in the midst of fighting? These choices have always been important, but Hubert feels the weight of them more keenly knowing that this is the Empire’s last chance to change the course of the war.

With their numbers bolstered by the reinforcement troops from Brigid however, Hubert is cautiously optimistic. It will certainly be a difficult battle, but he believes that the odds are in their favor. With Petra’s wyvern riders and pegasus knights, it should be possible to secure Derdriu’s ports while the rest of the Imperial army surrounds the perimeter. The only factor that worries him is Claude. Hubert has heard tales of the Master Tactician. His methods are unconventional to be sure, but effective. It would be a mistake to underestimate him.

Lady Edelgard stands and fastens her cape around her shoulders. She picks up the Sword of Seiros to belt it to her hip and pauses, her fingers lingering over the undulating blade.

“But until we defeat the Church of Seiros, we must continue to rely on the Agarthans. The Church will fall. Rhea knows this. Even if the unthinkable were to happen and I should be defeated, the Church can never return to what it once was.”’

Hubert bows.

“Yes. Their power and influence has been forever shattered, though it pains me greatly to think of your death coming to pass. The Agarthans will not escape judgement regardless. I have planned for all outcomes.”

She smiles slightly.

“I can always rely on you, Hubert.”

Lady Edelgard pulls Dorothea to her feet and kisses her softly on the lips.

“I will see you later, chérie.” She turns to Hubert. “Come now, we must visit the wounded today. They need hope now more than ever.”

He accompanies Lady Edelgard to the central war hospital in the city while she does her best to inspire the soldiers. That is not his role. Not here. When Hubert visits the hospital, he is a grim reaper, collecting the souls of those who would go to any length to ensure the Empire’s victory. Even with Brigid’s reinforcements, they will still need Demonic Beasts.

Lady Edelgard makes her rounds of the room while Hubert pauses beside a middle-aged man, hair streaked grey. His records show that he has stabilized, but that there is no chance for a full recovery.

“Lord von Vestra,” he wheezes.

“Captain Hughes.”

Hubert places a hand on his shoulder, the closest he can approach to condolences.

“Is it time?” Hughes asks.

“If you are still certain of your decision, you will be accompanying us to Derdriu.”

Hughes coughs, still weak.

“I always dreamt of visiting the Aquatic Capital. Never imagined it would be like this.”

Hubert visited once with his father. The low-lying city blended in with the seaside topography so that one could always see the ocean. It had a mild climate and the air smelled of salt. He remembers enjoying the coffee blends there.

“I am certain of my decision,” Hughes says firmly.

“Thank you,” Hubert says softly, “You have my eternal gratitude. Your family will be well taken care of.”

They both turn at the sound of Lady Edelgard’s raised voice. She stands at the center of the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

“It is true that we have recently suffered defeats in the Kingdom. But that does not mean we are defeated! Even as I speak, preparations are being made for our next offensive. I know that you have all given much for our cause. I swear to you, your sacrifices will not be in vain. We will win this war and free Fódlan!”

Edelgard raises her fist in the air.

“For the Empire!”

He’s heard the words a thousand times, but they still fill him with resolve.

_Yes. This is all for the Empire._

In the end, there are ten volunteers from the hospital. Fewer than Hubert hoped for, but he should be able to fill out the remainder of their ranks with prisoners. Criminals convicted of violent offenses punishable by death. Some traitors to the Empire. All will be given the opportunity to make themselves useful to Lady Edelgard’s cause. Hubert’s only regret is that the brave souls who make the decision to trade their humanity for everyone else’s sake have to die alongside the scum of the Empire. It will use the last of their Crest stone supply, but there should be enough shards to go around. The Demonic Beasts will be part of their frontal assault along with Agarthan mages. Once they’ve broken through the city wall the rest of the army will follow them. Dark mages are easy enough to disguise in Imperial uniforms. Demonic Beasts however, must be kept as far away from the main army as possible.

Lady Edelgard and Hubert decided long ago that the knowledge of their Agarthan allies must be kept between the two of them. Hubert begrudgingly brought Dorothea into their plans when Her Majesty insisted, but the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force does not know. Not everyone is strong enough to make the hard choices. Hubert thinks ruefully of Bernadetta, who cannot resist trembling at the sight of him unless he wears her embroidered flower on his chest. No, for their sake, for their peace of mind, Hubert bears the weight of allying with the Agarthans. He shields even Lady Edelgard from all but the most important interactions with them. No need to compound her distress unnecessarily.

Hubert arrives at the tea gardens to find Ferdinand waiting for him. It’s a welcome reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the hospital. Ferdinand eyes him amusedly as Hubert seats himself.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

A servant comes by and sets down a teapot, an Almyran coffee press, tea leaves and coffee beans. Ferdinand sets himself to the task of making Hubert coffee, grinding the beans before carefully pouring hot water over them. He doesn’t let it sit too long lest it become bitter and after a few minutes strains the coffee grinds with the press’ mesh. He gently sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of Hubert. Black. Just like he likes it.

“My morning duties with Her Majesty were more trying than usual.”

“Ah. Dorothea.” Ferdinand shoots him a sympathetic look while Hubert massages his temples. “We are no longer the closest people to Her Majesty. It was always going to be inevitable, Hubert.”

“I know, but that does not mean I have to like it.”

Ferdinand smiles to himself and Hubert warms, relieved that in this regard nothing has changed. His eyes linger on the dimple on Ferdinand’s cheek until it disappears. Just the one. It makes Ferdinand’s smile unique. Hubert takes a sip of his coffee and sighs contentedly. 

“You shouldn’t run yourself ragged so,” Ferdinand chides.

“I’ll rest after we take Derdriu.”

Though Hubert doesn’t enjoy drinking tea the way that Ferdinand does, he has to admit, the scent of Ferdinand’s fine teas is pleasant. He proffers his offering to Ferdinand, who takes it gratefully.

“You look like you needed a cup of tea as well.”

“Such is the life of the Emperor’s advisors,” Ferdinand laughs ruefully.

He says it so knowingly that Hubert finds himself smirking as well. So few people understand what it is to be the right hand of the Emperor. Hubert hums into his coffee when he remembers what he meant to ask about today.

“Speaking of which, you seemed to be opposed to our current course of action in our last war meeting.”

Ferdinand swirls a few sugar cubes into his tea, tapping the spoon on the edge of the cup to rid it of excess liquid.

“I think that invading Derdriu is a mistake. We will be leaving the Empire vulnerable. Besides, not long ago we were allied with some of the Alliance houses. I am not sure we should abandon diplomacy so quickly.”

“Hmph. Von Riegan has had five years to join us. I think he’s made his intentions quite clear.”

Ferdinand frowns at him.

“Is our goal to rule all of Fódlan or rid the continent of Crests, nobility and the Church?”

“The only way to rid the continent of such vices is by ruling all of Fódlan. You know this.”

They have spoken of this many times. It took some time to fully convince Ferdinand of this, but Hubert succeeded in the end. He’s not entirely sure why they are revisiting the subject once more.

“I fought beside Lorenz. From what he told me of the Alliance Roundtable, Claude’s objectives do not seem so dissimilar to ours. Why are we alienating a potential ally?”

Hubert sighs heavily, irritated at the direction their conversation has taken.

“Even if that were true, as Duke, Claude does not have the power to single-handedly change the Alliance. He is beholden to the will of a gaggle of nobles too self-interested to do anything about the plight of their people. It doesn’t matter if Claude means well if he does nothing. Not only has he done nothing but maintain the status quo in the Alliance, he has actively opposed our attempts to reach out to them. If Claude had accepted our assistance, that would have been one thing. But he has no intention of allying with us. And so, our only option is to invade Derdriu and wrest control of the Alliance for ourselves.”

Hubert fixes Ferdinand with a sharp look. “It is the only way.”

Ferdinand blinks at him and for the briefest moment, Hubert imagines he sees a glint of sadness. But as quickly as it came it is gone and Ferdinand nods.

“You’re right. I have chosen my path and I must commit to walking it.”

Hubert softens.

“This is the path we have prepared before Lady Edelgard. It is difficult. It is soaked in blood. But it is necessary.”

The preparations for Derdriu have kept them both busy. Even their regular teatimes are often filled with logistical discussions more than companionable conversation. If anything, however, it’s only impressed upon Hubert how much he values having a partner with which to share his burdens. He pauses, searching for the right words to convey this sentiment.

“I am glad I do not have to walk it alone.”

Ferdinand scoffs. “You have always had Edelgard.”

“It is not the same. I am Lady Edelgard’s vassal, a devoted retainer to her cause. But she is far above me, as she should be. You are my equal.”

Ferdinand’s eyes widen and he has to set his cup down.

“That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

He looks at Hubert with such doe eyes that Hubert scowls.

“I was only stating a fact. Don’t let it go to your head.”

But instead of embarking on an impassioned defense of his ego, Ferdinand goes pink in the cheeks. It startles Hubert, who is unused to causing such a reaction in others. Amidst the blooming tea gardens, the color suits Ferdinand quite well, who hastily brushes a few luminous locks behind his ear. A strange sense of pride rises in Hubert.

At that moment, a young girl skips up to their table and hands Ferdinand a carnation. The interruption shakes Ferdinand from his distraction, and he accepts with a strained smile. She bows slightly and runs off again. Ferdinand undoes the ribbon around the stem and reads it before passing it to Hubert.

_Lord Arundel requests your presence tomorrow at noon._

He incinerates the note like he does all the rest, but the flames burn close to blue in his hatred of Lady Edelgard’s uncle. A nuisance, but one he can deal with later. Ferdinand does not seem to notice, merely twirling the flower between his fingers while he waits for Hubert’s assessment. It’s a lovely shade of cherry and Hubert is suddenly struck with inspiration. He leans forward, touching Ferdinand’s hand to take the flower from him, and threads it through Ferdinand’s lapel. The entire time Ferdinand stays motionless, allowing Hubert to smooth out his collar. That faint dusting of rose adorns Ferdinand’s face once more and Hubert can’t help but wonder at his expression. He thought he might never see it again.

“Hubert…” Ferdinand says questioningly.

Hubert falls back into his place, retracting his hands as though they have a mind of their own. Truly, they wanted to wander, trace their way down Ferdinand’s shirt buttons and beyond. Hubert’s heart throws itself against his ribcage frantically, frightened by the intensity of his sudden desire to hold tight to a person in a way he has never wanted to before.

“It suits you,” Hubert says instead.

Ferdinand beams and Hubert is reminded that it was moments like this that he missed the most.

“You are too kind.”

Now it’s Hubert’s turn to snort in amusement.

“I don’t believe you have ever referred to me as kind before.”

Is he kind? Hubert never paid mind to such questions before. But he thinks the answer might be important to Ferdinand.

“I was only stating a fact,” Ferdinand parrots back to him with a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ferdinand’s impression of Hubert is so terrible that both of them laugh in spite of themselves.

“I’m afraid Dorothea would be most disappointed in my performance,” Ferdinand chuckles.

Hubert’s smile thins at the mention of Dorothea, reminding him of his new place in Lady Edelgard’s life. It irritates him how prone he is to useless emotions as of late. Jealousy has no place in his relationship with Lady Edelgard. Time to refocus his attention.

“Would you care to train together? It’s been quite some time and we should both be in top form for the confrontation in Derdriu,” Hubert says.

Not that he doesn’t have faith in Ferdinand’s abilities. But Hubert would rather not take chances and risk losing him again. Ferdinand readily agrees and they make their way to the training grounds. The afternoon light shines in through the skylight as Hubert and Ferdinand gather their personal battalions. Hubert is pleased to see Ferdinand so ecstatic to see his troops again. He inspires fierce loyalty amongst his soldiers. It’s part of what makes him a good commander.

Hubert catches sight of the stablemaster waiting for him as requested. Now for the real surprise. He takes the reins from the stablemaster and leads the chestnut war horse to Ferdinand. She’s beautiful, with a coat so sleek it gleams. Aria. A huff of warm air escapes her and blows some of Hubert’s bangs back from his face as she headbutts him gently. He’s not her rider, but she recognizes him as a friend. Animal companions are not really Hubert’s forte, but he feels some pride at having earned her trust.

“Aria!” Ferdinand exclaims when he sees her.

He hugs her around the neck and buries his face in her mane. Next Ferdinand pulls Hubert into an exuberant embrace, overjoyed at seeing his noble steed again. Hubert stiffens at first, unused to allowing someone to constrict his body so. Awkwardly, he pats Ferdinand’s back.

“Alright, Ferdinand. Enough of that now.”

Ferdinand pulls back and there are tears in his eyes.

“You took care of her for me.”

“Of course I did.”

Confusion wrinkles Ferdinand’s brow.

“But you did not know I was alive.”

_I couldn’t bear to part with the only thing I had left of you._

“No one else was worthy of riding her,” Hubert says archly.

Ferdinand grips his hands, surprising him with the strength of his grasp.

“Thank you.”

There’s a heavy weight to the words, full of such genuine gratitude that Hubert’s first instinct is to shrug it off. But such a gesture would wound Ferdinand, the last thing he wants to do in this joyful moment.

“You’re welcome. Now, shall we?”

Ferdinand swings up into his saddle, flexing his wrist before twirling his lance experimentally. He lifts one hand off his lance for only a few seconds, drawing a simplified Nosferatu sigil before returning his hand to steady his weapon. Hubert traces the lines of Ferdinand’s body, watching the minute thigh flexes Ferdinand makes to maintain his balance. Ferdinand has always possessed an athleticism that Hubert lacks. But it’s part of what makes them a good team. Their strengths and weaknesses complement each other.

The first of their opponents come to face them and Hubert feels a sense of serenity he hasn’t felt in months. They attack in tandem, Hubert weakening an enemy’s defense before Ferdinand strikes them down with his lance. A cavalier scores a hit with a javelin on Hubert and the familiar warmth of Ferdinand’s healing magic washes over him, erasing the bruise. Despite Ferdinand’s captivity, he seems to have lost none of his battlefield readiness.

A loud crack freezes everyone in their tracks. Felix stands in the corner of training dummies staring in shock at a shattered sword in his grasp. Hubert hadn’t paid much mind when the swordsman first entered the training grounds. He’d seen Felix follow this routine every day since his arrival. But Felix wields his sword with controlled, purposeful movements. He doesn’t break training weapons. No, that had always been King Dimitri’s frightening habit.

Ferdinand dismounts and checks to make sure Felix is alright while Hubert watches them with a narrowed gaze. One of the battalion captains barks out a curt order and the soldiers return to their sparring. Hubert lets them continue without him, too engrossed in whatever had shaken Felix so. Ferdinand collects some of the wooden shards and presses them into Felix’s hands. The swordsman’s dark eyes flick toward him then back to Ferdinand. A sigh escapes his lips and he collects his things and leaves the training grounds. Ferdinand returns, dusting off his hands and knees from bending down in the dirt.

“What was that about?” Hubert asks.

“His Crest activated unexpectedly.”

The Fraldarius Crest is known for making its bearers fast and strong. It’s a possible explanation. If Felix is losing control of that power, that could be dangerous. But Hubert doesn’t tell Ferdinand that. No need to worry him about a friend. It still astounds Hubert that Ferdinand considers Felix and Sylvain friends, but Ferdinand has always been sentimental. He supposes breaking someone out of prison tends to have that effect.

Ferdinand takes a moment to tie his hair up again, as it fell loose during training. The muscles in his arms tense as he gathers his locks. Sunlight catches on the strands, lighting them up like fire. In that halo, Hubert notes that Ferdinand might be the most handsome man he has ever seen. The thought makes the corner of his mouth quirk up in a half smile. Perhaps he’s turning sentimental as well.

They continue drills until the day has passed them by and Hubert is satisfied that he and Ferdinand are ready to face the battlefield together once again. Ferdinand excuses himself to retire to his quarters and take a bath. Hubert remains behind, standing in the center of the grounds. The dirt is disturbed in every direction, cataloguing the movements of the soldiers sparring. He glances down over his dust-streaked robes. A petal pokes out from under his boot, a splash of bright red amidst the drab dirt. Hubert bends down to pick it up and recognizes it as the carnation he gave Ferdinand. It must have fallen out while they were fighting. He brings it up to his nose. The scent of death and decay overpowers his senses and Hubert has to fight off the urge to vomit. Lord Arundel. Hubert crushes the corrupted flower in his fist. Someday he’ll do the same to that monster.

Hubert is sitting in his office the following day when Lord Arundel arrives in a pink flash. The man has long, slicked-back, black hair. Whereas Ferdinand’s hair glows, Lord Arundel’s hair is a void, draining the light out of the air around him. His sharp eyes glare down a narrow nose and a neatly trimmed beard. But all the meticulous grooming in the world could not alleviate the menacing aura Lord Arundel constantly exudes. As someone who is also frequently described as intimidating, Hubert can appreciate the craft with which Lord Arundel creates his presence. But it will not work on him.

“Minister von Vestra, thank you for waiting.”

Lord Arundel dips his head in greeting, all honeyed words and polite manners.

“Spare me the formalities. You arrived exactly when you planned.”

His pale, lifeless blue eyes sweep over Hubert, assessing him, searching for weaknesses. Hubert stares back defiantly. He doesn’t bother offering him a seat. Finally, Lord Arundel smiles, his face splitting in a malevolent fashion, straining his chalky skin. It reminds Hubert of cracked glass.

“How are the preparations for Derdriu going?”

“Everything has been set in motion. Scouts have been sent ahead to secure our supply train. Our troops have a fresh supply of weapons and armor. We should arrive by the end of Lone Moon.”

“Two months from now?”

Hubert’s lip curls.

“Unless you have a faster way to transport an army across the continent.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing I can do about that,” Lord Arundel chuckles. But the way he laughs makes Hubert believe that perhaps he does. “What of your troops? Are you confident you can invade the Aquatic Capital?”

Lord Arundel paces to the wall to study the city map pinned there.

“We have had reinforcements arrive from Brigid.”

At that, Lord Arundel sneers.

“That pitiful island? I seem to recall the Empire mercilessly crushing their army in the last war. You’d rely on them to bolster your forces?”

Hubert’s jaw tightens.

“Queen Petra recently ascended the throne. She is a reliable ally of the Empire. Her troops are skilled. I have no reason not to rely on them.”

A flash of irritation narrows Lord Arundel’s eyes.

“Be that as it may, are you certain they will be sufficient? You cannot lose Derdriu.”

“I am well aware of that,” Hubert replies dryly. “I am certain we will be able to defeat both the Kingdom and the Alliance. That is all you really care about, is it not?”

“The Empire’s victories are our victories.” Lord Arundel spreads his hands. “We are more than willing to provide you more support to guarantee a victory.”

A viper’s gift. Lord Arundel’s eyes glitter with malice.

“What are you offering?”

“New weapons like Amyr. You could outfit all of your little school friends if you wish.”

Weapons made from Nabatean bones. Hubert knows then why Lord Arundel is here. He solidifies his defenses before replying. This will not be pleasant.

“Rhea is not negotiable.”

Lord Arundel's face looks like it’s carved in stone.

“Why, may I ask?”

Hubert folds his arms behind his back, hiding how tightly his fingers are digging into his forearms.

“The Brigid reinforcements tip the scales decidedly in our favor. There is no need to waste Rhea’s potential on this battle.”

“You’ve wasted the Immaculate One’s potential for years,” Lord Arundel spits, “With that creature’s power, we could end the war once and for all.”

_Then you would turn that power against us._

Lord Arundel’s lips thin but Hubert refuses to crack. He will not change his mind. Lord Arundel steps into Hubert’s space.

“The Fell Star herself is leading the Kingdom’s troops. You have yet to defeat her since her reappearance. I do not anticipate Derdriu will prove any different.”

The Professor. Hubert had had to abandon his attempt to defeat her at Gronder in order to protect Lady Edelgard. She will not escape him again.

“We defeated her at Garreg Mach once before. We will defeat her at Derdriu.”

“Forgive me for remaining skeptical.”

_This is pointless._

“When,” Hubert emphasizes, “we take Derdriu, we will need your assistance occupying the region. Are you prepared to do so?”

“ _If_ you take Derdriu, then I will be happy to help you hold the territory.” Lord Arundel smirks. “You know, Edelgard could destroy them in one fell swoop.”

All the air in Hubert’s lungs dissipates as he stiffens.

“No,” he replies hoarsely.

“She would have the power to rival even the Immaculate One. The Fell Star would have no chance against her.”

“It will not be necessary.”

“But if it is?”

“It will not come to that.”

Lord Arundel’s eyes shine with dark amusement.

“Does she scare you, von Vestra? Will you still fight alongside her if the worst should come to pass?”

It takes all of Hubert’s strength to restrain himself from lunging across his desk and strangling Lord Arundel right then and now.

“I will _never_ abandon her. Not like you,” Hubert hisses enraged.

“Do you _love_ her?” Lord Arundel asks mockingly, “Devoting yourself all these years and it’s still not enough.”

“I don’t expect you of all people to understand.”

“Whether my niece chooses to use the power or not, it will always live inside her. What does it feel like, to know that your precious humanity is not powerful enough?”

“ _Get out.”_

Arundel only laughs before disappearing in a pink flash. Hubert breathes heavily, carding his fingers through the fringe of his hair. He will not let that happen. Rationally, the future of humanity is worth more than a single person. But if the price of victory is Lady Edelgard’s life, Hubert does not know if he could continue on. He swallows, gripping the edges of his desk until his knuckles turn white. They must take Derdriu. They will win the war. And then Hubert will break the Agarthan chokehold on the Empire one finger at a time.

Everything has a price. The price of Felix and Sylvain’s sanctuary in the Empire is information. In the last days before the Imperial Army embarks, Hubert tries to wring every last drop of useful intel out of them. They speak to Dimitri’s mental state. It’s stabilized somewhat since the Kingdom retook Fhirdiad, but that control is fragile. It would only take one devastating loss to tip him over the edge once again. It’s clear that he holds the Professor dear. Hubert can only imagine what Dimitri’s reaction would be if she fell.

But Felix and Sylvain have little to tell Hubert about the Professor that he did not already know. He had deduced her mother’s connection to the monastery from her tombstone. Tidbits about her planning sessions from previous battles could reveal some strategies that the Professor favors, but it’s very little to go off of. One fact catches Hubert’s attention: the Professor has become more expressive as of late. He remembers the stoic and emotionless woman from before. How much did the Goddess’ power change her?

Sylvain’s father, Margrave Gautier, is in charge of rallying the western lords to Dimitri again. According to Sylvain, he’s been quite successful. The promise of the king’s grace proved too powerful a motivator than a place in the noble-less world Lady Edelgard envisions. Regrettably for them, Hubert will be far less forgiving when the Kingdom finally falls to the Empire.

Felix draws out the path he expects the Kingdom army to take. They’ll likely travel through Ailell. Hubert doubts that the blistering heat is easy for the northern soldiers to bear. But it’s the fastest route, despite its dangers. Hubert wonders if the path would prove to be too treacherous for the Imperial army. If not, the Empire’s forces would be able to attack from the east while Lord Arundel’s forces attack from the west. The Kingdom would be surrounded on all sides.

Hubert watches Felix during these sessions. The swordsman maintains a cool composure, showing no sign of the loss of control from the training grounds. But there’s a tension between Sylvain and Felix. It’s been present since he caught the two of them pawing at each other in the lower levels. Trouble in paradise it seems.

It follows the two of them to dinner one evening. Hubert is dining with Lady Edelgard, listening to Dorothea’s ideas on how to go about creating a just, classless society once they’ve won. It weighs on her, the knowledge that if the right person hadn’t heard her singing one day, she might have remained on the streets her whole life. A flash of bright red hair catches Hubert’s attention. Sylvain heads to a table across the room from them. Felix scowls at his appearance. Hubert can’t hear from this far away but it’s clear the two of them are arguing.

“Hubert.”

He refocuses on Dorothea. It’s rare for her to use his proper name.

“We’re going to win at Derdriu, right? I mean, there’s always a chance we’ll lose. But with Petra’s troops…”

Lady Edelgard covers Dorothea’s hand with her own.

“The Kingdom army is still recovering and the Alliance forces have never been fully unified. You do not need to be afraid for me.”

But Dorothea locks eyes with Hubert and for the first time, he appreciates that the depth of her affection for Lady Edelgard runs as deep as his own.

“Her Majesty will be victorious,” he says.

Hubert believes it. He must. Dorothea shoots him a grateful look.

Glancing back around the dining hall, Hubert sees Ferdinand collecting his tray from the servants. He is about to raise his hand to invite Ferdinand over when Ferdinand heads away from him. Towards Sylvain and Felix. It catches Dorothea’s eye too.

“Ferdinand said the two of you quite enjoyed the opera last week.”

“It was certainly a dazzling performance, though I’m afraid I’m less cultured than Ferdinand in my knowledge of the opera. He was certainly taken with it. I believe his exact words were, ‘Even more thrilling than Madame Butterfly!’”

In truth, Hubert had spent most of the show watching Ferdinand’s reactions out of the corner of his eye. There was something exceedingly intimate about witnessing Ferdinand be so deeply moved by the drama. The way his lips would silently move in time with the rising song. The sheen of unspilled tears bright in Ferdinand’s eyes. Even if Hubert hadn’t been paying the performance much attention, based on Ferdinand’s expressions alone, Hubert thinks Dorothea’s opera must have been a brilliant piece of art. She flushes with embarrassment.

“Well, Ferdie does always have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Less so than he used to,” Lady Edelgard says thoughtfully. “He hasn’t tried to ‘surpass’ me once since returning. Not that I miss his ridiculous competitiveness. But I worry about him. You haven’t noticed anything wrong, Hubert?”

“His routine with me remains unchanged,” Hubert says, frowning. “Should I be concerned?”

“He was a prisoner for months. Captivity can do strange things to a person.”

Anxiety rises in Hubert at the thought that Ferdinand has been struggling and he’d done nothing to alleviate it. But Lady Edelgard waves him off.

“I don’t mean to cause unnecessary trouble. You are the closest to him. I trust your judgement.”

Dorothea finishes off the last of her wine and smirks at him.

“Is Ferdie the closest to you too, Hubie?”

He glares dourly at her. Hubert does not appreciate being laughed at. But it only serves to make her smirk stretch wider. Lady Edelgard takes pity on him.

“We should turn in for the evening. Don’t you think so, Dorothea?”

Dorothea pouts at her.

“I suppose so. You’re no fun, you know that?”

Hubert catches a glimpse of Felix leaving the dining hall as he and his companions bid each other goodnight in the courtyard. Odd. Felix usually leaves with his dining partners. The crowded dining hall swallows Felix and Hubert loses track of him. No matter. He has work to attend to this evening. The latest reports from Ordelia and Hyrm territory arrived earlier today. Unrest is spreading like wildfire ever since they lost the Great Bridge of Myrrdin. Not for the first time, Hubert curses Ferdinand’s late father. Years of mismanagement have led to this.

Hubert reads late into the night. The palace is quiet. Hubert enjoys the silence. It allows him to work uninterrupted. Even when he has to leave his office to retrieve more coffee, no one disturbs him. Once he’s certain he’s learned everything he can from his spies’ recounts of the food shortages in Ordelia and rebellions in Hyrm, Hubert can finally turn his attention to the most pressing matter. Rhea. The journey to Derdriu will take roughly two months. And after Derdriu, they might continue on to Fhirdiad. Hubert is unsure when he will have the opportunity to question her again.

He locks his office securely before making the trek down to Rhea’s cell. When Hubert reaches the stairwell however, something prickles the back of his neck, like he’s being watched. He descends without breaking his stride. His shadow need not know he’s noticed their presence. Halfway down Hubert changes the pace of his footsteps. For one beat, he hears the muted scuff of another’s footfall before it morphs into his own once more. His tail must be very skilled to correct themselves so quickly. But not skilled enough. Hubert arrives at the entrance to the lower dungeons and quickly whirls around, hoping to catch them off guard. No luck. He steps down the hallway, watching for any sign of movement, listening for any sound. Nothing. Hubert huffs under his breath. They’ve escaped him for now. He turns back to the door. Let them think he believes he’s alone again. Even if they see the entrance, it’s impossible for anyone other than he and Lady Edelgard to enter. They’re more likely to get themselves caught trying to get in. Hubert sets aside the issue for another day. For the moment, he must attend to Rhea. They still have yet to determine the location of the Agarthans’ stronghold.

Hubert watches intently for his shadow the next day. He documents everyone who comes within his vicinity and reviews who might have been near him in the past week. The only ripples he can point to are the incidents with Felix, though private disagreements between him and Sylvain are hardly evidence of treason. But Felix has piqued Hubert’s interest now. Perhaps he should get to know the prickly swordsman better.

If Felix is surprised when Hubert steps into the training grounds, he doesn’t show it. Hubert tilts his head in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Fraldarius.”

Now that raises Felix’s eyebrow.

“Are you here to train as well?”

“I find it can be a welcome distraction for a weary mind.”

Felix’s gaze narrows at him.

“Are you looking for a sparring partner?”

Hubert looks around the rest of the grounds. They aren’t alone. Some of the palace guard are here, working through their paces with a variety of weapons, though mainly axes. The sounds of occasional grunts of pain could be heard in the background. He smiles at Felix.

“I believe you are the only one free.”

Felix gestures to the racks of training weapons along the wall behind the columns.

“Take your pick.”

Hubert chuckles.

“I have some basic training with a bow but no, I will not be using a weapon.”

Felix hefts his sword and slides into a ready position. He raises his chin at Hubert in a clear challenge. No subtlety with that one. But it’s somewhat refreshing, given that the rest of Hubert’s life is steeped in hidden meanings, politicking and espionage. Hubert’s hands light up in a purple halo and he makes the first move, blasting a Miasma spell at Felix. The swordsman easily dodges but maintains his distance.

_He’s fast. Well, if he wants to maintain his distance, that works to my advantage._

Mire B crackles from Hubert’s fingertips next, a longer-range spell than Miasma. Felix is forced to slash through the spell with his sword but it still pushes him back quite a bit, until he’s at the edge of the grounds. This time Felix sprints forward and Hubert takes evasive measures, but he cannot outrun the smaller man. Felix sweeps his blade toward him and Hubert slides beneath the sword, a Banshee spell at the ready. Felix takes the direct hit and lets out a hiss. His movements are slowed as the phantoms cling to him before dissipating.

“You’re very dedicated to your training.”

Felix’s breath is labored as he pushes through the effects of the spell.

“Is that… a bad thing?” he huffs out.

“No. I applaud you for your strict regimen. I only wish my men had half of your resolve.”

_Let’s see how he reacts to flattery._

With a low grunt, Felix casts off the remainder of the spell. He moves forward again with a downward slash. Again, Hubert sidesteps, but in that moment a Thoron spell lances through him, the electricity jerking all of his muscles. He coughs as he stumbles backward and Felix is pressing his advantage. Hubert casts multiple Miasmas at him in quick succession, forcing Felix to give him space.

“It’s a good thing that I joined you then, isn’t it?”

“You’re a Mortal Savant?”

“Surprised?”

“I never saw you at any of Hanneman’s or Manuela’s magic seminars.”

“It’s a skill I picked up in wartime.”

Felix stabs forward and Hubert slides his daggers out of his sleeves to deflect. A wry smile crosses Felix’s face.

“No weapons, huh?”

“Did you really expect me to fight fair?”

“No. I like it better that way. The knights are too damn stuffy for their own good.”

“Is that why you left?”

Even with his daggers, Hubert is clearly weaker at close-range and he fires Death to push Felix back.

“It’s part of it.”

A dagger on Felix’s hip glints and Hubert tries to get a good look at it.

_Ah, I remember in the belongings returned to them that Felix had a dagger with the Fraldarius Crest on the hilt._

“Is there some sentimental value to that?” Hubert asks breathlessly as he dodges a Thunder spell.

Felix grits his teeth and charges forward once more. With a Mortal Savant’s increased resilience, Felix is taking Hubert’s spells remarkably well.

“It was my father’s.”

Hubert smirks at him.

“You hated your father. Whenever he came by the monastery, you hid in your room.”

Felix raps him on the knee and Hubert lets out a small cry.

“Didn’t you kill your own father?”

“He deserved it. He was a horrid man.”

As good as Felix is, he’s not as good as Hubert. The dark mage lets out a dark laugh before summoning Dark Spikes and pinning Felix in place. He walks over to survey his work as Felix lies helpless, glaring up at him.

“Do you yield?”

“I yield.”

Hubert lets the magic evaporate and then pulls Felix upright. The swordsman grimaces but nods in thanks.

“That was a good match. I should practice against mages more often.”

“You give yourself too little credit. Most mages would stand little chance against you.”

The match assuages some of Hubert’s fears. Felix might have lost to Hubert, but he was completely in control of himself the entire time. The dark-haired swordsman regards him for a long while with his arms crossed.

“I don’t understand you, von Vestra.”

Hubert lets out a barking laugh.

“Most people don’t, Fraldarius.”

“I want to.”

“Oh?”

_That’s certainly unexpected._

Felix returns his sword to the rack and wipes a cloth over his face to dry off some of the sweat.

“You know the Emperor better than anyone, right?”

Hubert narrows his eyes as he dusts himself off.

“Yes.”

“Then explain this war to me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve heard about what the Emperor wants and what the Empire is trying to achieve, but I want to hear it from you. None of this propaganda bullshit.”

Hubert considers for a moment how truthful to be. He’s still not sure who his shadow is.

“Come with me.”

After Felix cleans up a bit, Hubert leads him into the tea gardens towards the first of the statues in a long line of Hresvelg ancestors. Unlike the rest, Wilhelm’s statue does not stand alone. He is depicted kneeling as Saint Seiros crowns him Emperor. Wilhelm’s eyes are lifted skyward, in awe and devotion, his head leaned slightly back in clear supplication. Seiros in this rendition is dressed in armor, not her typical modest garb. The crown in her hands seems to weigh her down and Hubert wonders if it was the artist’s intention to make her expression look so uncertain or if the passage of time has worn the statue. Felix stands beside him silently.

“We want to free humanity. Since the beginning, our history, our culture, our civilizations have been guided by immortal creatures such as Seiros. I’m sure you saw the white dragon at Garreg Mach?”

Felix nods, eyes keen.

“She is called the Immaculate One. She is Rhea’s, or should I say _Seiros’_ true form. Those with power should use it wisely. That is a teaching from the Church of Seiros. And what did she do with all that power? She split Fódlan, first into the Adrestian Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, then the Leicester Alliance, so that we would fight amongst ourselves. We were gifted the Crest system as a boon, to keep everyone in their places. It’s pathetic, the lengths that some nobles will go to renew the fading power in their blood.”

Hubert turns to regard Felix, whose hand is gripped tightly onto his father’s dagger. A frown tugs on the corner of Hubert’s mouth. He thought maybe he had a chance to convince the swordsman.

“Did I say something to offend you?”

Felix shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“No, you’re right. I hate the Crest system and everything it stands for.”

“An unusual opinion for someone from the Kingdom.”

Felix laughs bitterly.

“Then you don’t know anything about the Kingdom.”

Hubert moves to sit on one of the low garden walls and gestures for Felix to join him.

“Tell me.”

The swordsman rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, bracing himself. His hands lace tightly together and the sigh he lets out sounds forced.

“Sylvain is not the firstborn son of Gautier. His brother Miklan was first, but he wasn’t born with a Crest. When Sylvain came along, his parents pushed Miklan to the side and he lost his inheritance.”

Felix glances sidewise at Hubert, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Personally, I couldn’t give a shit about my inheritance. I’ve never wanted to become Duke. The only thing I care about is keeping my people safe and well fed. But Miklan thought he was entitled to it. He grew to resent and hate Sylvain.”

Hubert knew some of this story. The Black Eagles were not tasked with retrieving the Lance of Ruin when it was stolen, but he had heard it was the work of a disowned Gautier. Something in Felix’s eyes burns when he tells the story.

“Sylvain and I grew up together. But I was a few years younger. So I didn’t understand why every time I showed up in Gautier, Sylvain seemed to have a new injury. At first it was bruises. Then broken bones. Sylvain convinced me it was just an accident, that he slipped while out hunting. Or that it was a sparring injury. It never made sense. Sylvain wasn’t clumsy or stupid. No one could possibly have that many mishaps.”

Felix clenches his jaw, fury bleeding into his voice as his fingers dig into the fabric of his breeches.

“After a while, I realized it was Miklan who was torturing Sylvain. Once, he left him on a mountainside in the middle of winter, claiming they were separated in a snowstorm. By the time they found Sylvain, he had hypothermia. I spent three days at his bedside praying that he would recover. There was nothing I could do. I’d never felt so useless before. Unable to heal him, help him. I couldn’t even protect him. I wasn’t strong enough.”

There’s a raw pain in Felix’s face that almost makes Hubert flinch away from the intensity of it. In a strange twist of fate, Hubert feels a sense of kinship with Felix in this one regard. After the Insurrection of the Seven, Lord Arundel took Lady Edelgard under the cover of night and stole away to Fhirdiad. The sensation of loss that overcame him that day defies all description.

_It was as horrific as if I’d lost all my limbs. I felt empty, my insides scraped clean until I was only a lifeless husk._

Hubert tried to go after them, braving the frigid snows of Faerghus to try and rescue Lady Edelgard. His father sent soldiers to capture him. He was able to fight them off for three days, but eventually he exhausted himself. Hubert was ten years old at the time.

“The last straw was when Miklan pushed him down a well and came as close as he’d ever gotten to murdering Sylvain. That was when they disowned Miklan and kicked him out.”

“Sylvain never told anyone what was happening?”

Hubert’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. It wasn’t the same, but the images of a soaking wet, shivering, broken child with a mop of red hair reminded him far too much of a young Lady Edelgard. The way her face was as pale as her newly silver hair when she collapsed in his arms after the latest round of tests. Her eyes were so hollow, it was all Hubert could do to keep her from slipping into darkness.

Felix snorts derisively.

“He thought it was his fault for being born. I don’t know if Sylvain’s father ever gave a damn about either of them. As soon as Miklan was gone, Margrave Gautier started pushing marriage proposals on Sylvain. It was his _duty_ to produce an heir with the Gautier Crest, he was never given a choice. After a while, Sylvain came to believe it was the only thing about him people cared for. Then Miklan stole the Lance of Ruin.”

Felix’s expression becomes stormy, the lightning magic he channels almost crackling in the air.

“He ransacked villages, abducted women. Miklan was pure evil. But even he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Hubert raises an eyebrow. From what he heard the mission was completed without incident. Miklan was killed and the lance returned.

“What happened?”

“Miklan didn’t have a Crest. When he tried to wield the Lance of Ruin, it turned him into a monster.”

_Oh. Like the Demonic Beasts._

“Sylvain had to watch that, had to kill his own brother, all because of a bloody Crest.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hubert means it. Tragedies like Sylvain’s are exactly what Lady Edelgard hopes to prevent in the future.

“It’s not just Sylvain. Dimitri’s uncle was passed up in the line of succession because he didn’t have a Crest. When he became Regent, he drank himself into a stupor and spent his time chasing women instead of helping our people. Ingrid’s father put the entire fate of House Galatea on her shoulders because their lands are poor and she had a Crest. Our entire country is strangled by the blasted things. So no, I have no love of Crests.”

Felix is telling the truth. Hubert could read no lie in his body language. Oddly, Felix was much more open than Hubert was expecting. As if he were hoping for something.

“It’s good that Sylvian has you.”

Felix grunts noncommittally.

They sit in silence for a while until Felix gestures towards the statue again.

“I believe you, about Rhea, Seiros, whatever she calls herself. Do you think the Church of Seiros is the Goddess’ work or the misguided attempts of her followers?”

Hubert pauses. No one has ever asked him that before. To be perfectly honest, Hubert had never considered it before.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Even if she is not responsible herself, then she refused to intervene when her name was used against us. The Goddess has not governed Fódlan well. When the need arises, humanity steps up to meet the call. That is not the case for inhuman creatures with lifespans beyond our own. The Empire wants to make the world a better place, a place where your children can grow up free of the burdens of Crests. Is that not worth fighting for?”

Felix blinks at him, startled. His jaw relaxes.

“Yes, it is.”

Hubert looks at Felix shrewdly.

“I hope you and Sylvain mean to stay here.”

Felix scowls and his harsh demeanor is back in place.

“Do you doubt us?”

“Forgive me, but the two of you seemed at odds the other day.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“The dining hall is hardly a private venue. You left so abruptly, I was worried something serious had happened.”

Worried might be stretching the truth somewhat. Hubert still does not know whether to consider Felix and Sylvain friend or foe. But discord between them could threaten their loyalty to the Empire.

“We’re fine,” Felix insists. He gestures between himself and the air. “This, it’s new for me.”

Hubert can believe that. He’s not sure if Felix has ever had a romantic partner before. But it’s too neat an explanation. Everything about Sylvain and Felix’s defection has been almost nauseatingly believable. And he’s trained to look past the obvious answer.

“Are dalliances in palace hallways new for you too?”

At the reminder, Felix turns a bright red. Hubert chuckles.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Please just forget that you saw that,” Felix groans.

Hubert takes in the anxious vibration of Felix’s frame. The swordsman is clearly embarrassed. Soft, navy-blue thigh high boots extend up Felix’s legs and Hubert scrutinizes them. The perfect material for muted footsteps. He should know.

“I wish I could,” Hubert replies wryly.

Felix stands abruptly.

“Do you need me for anything else?”

Hubert sweeps his gaze over Felix. The swordsman is talented and has good reason to fight for the Empire. But that’s no guarantee of anything in love and war.

“I’m not keeping you here.”

Felix eyes narrow like he thinks it’s a trap. He considers, shifting his weight before giving a jerky nod. Hubert watches him stride stiffly back to the palace. It’s been a long day.

When Hubert returns to his quarters, he sees a light flickering beneath the doorway and pauses. Creeping forward, he slowly presses his ear to the door to hear who’s inside. Footsteps thump along the floor followed by the distinctive clink of a teacup against a saucer. Hubert snorts softly to himself. Ferdinand. He pushes the door open to find the sitting table being set out by his copper-headed holy knight.

“Ferdinand, you didn’t have to.”

Ferdinand jumps and turns around, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Flames, Hubert. You almost scared me half to death!”

“I didn’t mean to.” Hubert crosses his arms and arches his brow. “You almost had me convinced there was a spy in my room.”

“Yes, well,” Ferdinand huffs. “You never showed up for dinner. I know how you are about forgetting to eat when working.”

Now that Hubert thinks about it, he _is_ hungry. And sautéed pheasant and eggs is the meal he and Ferdinand always share. Hubert unclasps his cape and drapes it over the back of his chair. No one has ever done anything like this for him before. Ferdinand hands him a steaming cup of tea and Hubert’s brow knits in confusion.

“No more coffee today,” Ferdinand scolds. “It’s a wonder you ever sleep. It’s Dagda fruit blend. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“If you insist,” Hubert sighs.

But it’s a poor protest. Hubert has a weakness and his name is Ferdinand. He can argue about politics all day with Ferdinand if need be. But when Ferdinand worries over him, Hubert finds it impossible to resist. Other than Lady Edelgard, there are few who care so deeply for his well being. Hubert takes a bite of pheasant and melts slightly at the taste of it. Normally he has little interest in food, but this is the rare exception. Ferdinand looks on, pleased.

“You like it then?”

Hubert rolls his eyes.

“How many times did Her Majesty make us eat together at Garreg Mach? This was the only thing the two of us could agree on.”

Ferdinand laughs nervously.

“I know. But um, I asked because I made it and I wasn’t sure if it was any good and - “

Hubert interrupts Ferdinand’s rambling before it spirals further. “Ferdinand, it’s delicious. Thank you.”

It’s a sign of the quality of the food that the two of them fall into silence as they keep eating. Ferdinand’s comforting presence soothes Hubert. He can feel the burdens of the day slowly draining away. Sitting here in this moment, Hubert realizes that he has everything he requires to be happy. Lady Edelgard is Emperor and pursuing her goal of a better Fódlan. Ferdinand helps him advise Her Majesty. The two of them have coffee and tea together each day. Hubert glances up to find Ferdinand gazing at him with honey-colored eyes.

“Ferdinand - “

“Hubert - “

They both break off with a slight laugh.

“You first,” Ferdinand says.

“I cannot believe you cooked me dinner. I wasn’t aware you enjoyed being in the kitchen.”

“I don’t make a habit of it, but it’s satisfying from time to time. I made Dorothea pastries once. She said they were quite good!”

Hubert sits back, full from the meal.

“I remember that. You couldn’t figure out why she kept calling you a bee.”

Ferdinand’s face falls ruefully.

“I thought it was because I was a hard worker. I am glad we were able to sort out our differences though.”

“Ferdinand.” Hubert gives him an amused look. “You are a hard worker. I’m usually working with you.”

Ferdinand smiles gratefully, eyes flickering between Hubert and the table. The low lighting throws Ferdinand’s features in high relief, the curve of his jaw fading into shadow. Though Hubert has removed his cloak, he feels a bit hot under his collar. He looks for something to do with his hands.

“What were you going to say?” Hubert asks before lifting his tea cup for a sip.

“I - “ Ferdinand starts, following the tea cup with his eyes until he meets Hubert’s, a hint of desperation in his tone.

The room tilts to a dizzying angle and all sound suddenly becomes muted. Hubert can hear his heartbeat thunderingly loud in his head. He tries to move but finds it far too laborious. His vision spins, black gathering at the edges as he slides from his chair. Distantly, Hubert can hear Ferdinand frantically calling his name.

_Ferdinand._

Then Hubert loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that this work now has a final chapter count. This is only part one of a series that I've created for this. So make sure to subscribe to the series to know when the second work gets posted!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand tells Sylvain what he's done. Sylvain begins to learn dark magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for coming on this journey with me! I'm so excited to finally finish part one. Please make sure to subscribe to the series so you know when the story continues! I plan to post the next work in 2-3 weeks.
> 
> In addition I will occasionally post one shots from other characters' perspectives that occur during the main story.

**~Sylvain~**

“Open up!”

Pounding on the door wakes Felix and Sylvain with a start. Sylvain sits up and bangs his head on the headboard, falling back with a groan. Felix instinctively grabs his dagger off the nightstand when guards burst into their room. Light streams in through the doorway, blinding both of them. In moments they’re surrounded and the captain levels her sword at Sylvain’s throat. Felix braces himself against the wall in a defensive stance, blade held out in front of him. He shoots a panicked glance Sylvain’s way and Sylvain can feel his heart pounding from the adrenaline surging through him.

“Drop it,” the captain says.

Felix hesitates. Slowly, she presses her blade into Sylvain’s throat until she draws a thin line of blood. For all his bravado, Sylvain does not want to die. He swallows hard. Reluctantly, Felix drops the dagger, and it clangs on the floor. The woman assesses both of them, taking in their disheveled, disoriented state.

“Search their belongings,” she orders.

They’re hauled out of bed while their sheets and pillows are torn apart. Frantically, Sylvain casts his mind back, trying to think of anything they could have done to blow their cover. He prays the soldiers don’t find anything that could be considered incriminating. Felix glares down the soldiers now turning their room inside out. A guard roughly paws through their clothes in the dresser, leaving them strewn about the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Felix demands.

The captain fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“We’ve been asleep,” Sylvain tries to explain. “We don’t know what’s happened.”

She crosses her arms. “We’ll see.”

For every minute that goes by, the ice in Sylvian’s heart grows colder. Somehow, they’ve been discovered and it’s only a matter of time before they’re executed. He should do something, anything, but his body is frozen in place. It’s as though his brain suddenly stopped being able to process anything other than pure, unadulterated fear.

_I don’t have any weapons, any armor, nothing!_

Magic. He has magic. The realization slows his heart somewhat while he summons a Fire spell into his palms, just waiting for release. A sudden touch at his hand startles Sylvain. Felix intertwines his fingers with his. Glancing meaningfully at the drapery and shag carpet, Felix shakes his head minutely. Right. No fire.

Sylvian eyes the soldier guarding him. They’re carrying a lance that he might be able to wrest away. Out of the corner of his eye, Sylvain can see Felix slowly shifting his weight to his back foot. Sylvain is about to launch himself at his guard when the captain abruptly calls off the soldiers. They drop everything and file out of the room, leaving as quickly as they arrived. The captain stops at the threshold to look back at them.

“You got lucky this time. Until this investigation is over, neither of you are to leave the palace.”

Then the door shuts with a thud. Sylvain blinks at the room in disbelief, the brush with death suddenly leaving him weak.

“Holy Sothis,” Sylvain swears. “I really thought we were going to die that time.”

“We could have taken them,” Felix says, but his expression is stony.

Could they have? The two of them are elite fighters but even they’re not unstoppable. Sylvian slowly looks about the carnage of their room. The bed will have to be remade. He bends down to gather the sheets when he hears a soft _clink!_ Felix’s silver hair pin rolls out. The swordsman picks it up, inspecting it with sharp intensity.

“They’re lucky they didn’t damage anything,” Felix grumbles.

Sylvain almost laughs in shock.

“We almost died and you’re worried about your hairpin?”

Felix glances sidewise at him through his bangs with an unreadable look.

“You gave it to me.”

Sylvain’s chest gets tight and all he wants to do in that moment is reach out and brush Felix’s hair back. Instead, he starts spreading the sheets out over the mattress and tucking them in. Normally this is servant’s work, but his previously frequent nighttime activities had required him to learn how to covertly change sheets. Felix folds clothes on the ground.

“What were they looking for do you think?” Sylvain asks.

Though the immediate danger is gone, Sylvain doesn’t think they’re out of the woods yet.

“I don’t know,” Felix says perplexed. “As far as I know, Hubert never saw me following him. We haven’t stolen anything.”

Not that that’s very reassuring. Their place here in the Empire is precarious. Sylvain knew the risks when they took this mission. But knowing and seeing are two different things. For the first time Sylvain truly appreciates that they might never make it back to the Kingdom. If the only person in danger was himself, Sylvain might be able to make peace with that. He thinks about the lifeline Felix’s touch had been during their ordeal. They once swore they would stay together until they died together. This isn’t really what Sylvain had in mind. What scares him the most though, is that he almost died without ever telling Felix the truth. Sylvain finishes with the bed and helps Felix put their belongings back into their dresser.

“Hey, Felix?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we didn’t die.”

“Hmph,” Felix snorts, a faint smile on his lips. “I’m glad we didn’t die too.”

Sylvain almost tells him then. Something must have shown on his face because Felix looks at him curiously. But it doesn’t feel right, saying it out of the blue when they’re so out of sorts. He wants Felix to know he means it when he tells him he loves him. He doesn’t want to say it out of fear. Sylvain can feel the adrenaline retreating and exhaustion taking its place. It’s late, or is it early morning? The fact that he doesn’t know convinces him that he needs to sleep before making any rash decisions.

Whatever is happening, it can wait until morning.

The palace is in an uproar the following day. Servants scurry down the halls whispering and giving Sylvain surreptitious looks. There are more guards than usual patrolling the grounds. He can almost physically feel the tension in the atmosphere that has everyone on edge. Visitors are barred from the palace for the moment. Anyone going in or out must have an approved reason for doing so. It’s not until Ferdinand comes to drag him to his office that he understands why.

“What is going on, Ferdinand?” Sylvain asks.

Ferdinand checks if anyone is in the hallway and then firmly shuts his door. There is a wild energy to the man that Sylvain is unused to seeing. Ferdinand paces around the room, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. It’s so unlike him that Sylvain feels a sense of dread seep into his veins. This must be why they were dragged out of their beds in the middle of the night. Sylvain puts a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder, ceasing his restless movement.

“Ferdinand, what happened?” he asks slightly sharper.

Ferdinand flinches at the touch.

“I…” He covers Sylvain’s hand with his own, squeezing with a death grip. “I…”

Sylvain has never seen Ferdinand so distressed before.

“Hey, hey,” Sylvain soothes. “Come here.”

Ferdinand lets out a choked sob and fists the front of Sylvain’s shirt, head bowed. Sylvain cradles the back of his head, running his fingers through his long hair in a comforting motion. Ferdinand shudders in his arms, Sylvain’s shoulder becoming damp. It takes some time before Ferdinand can speak coherently. Sylvain feels when Ferdinand’s breathing calms and his grasp loosens. Ferdinand pulls back, wiping his face roughly with his fingers.

“Are you alright?” Sylvain asks, concerned.

“I betrayed him,” Ferdinand whispers shamefaced.

So, it finally came to that. Sylvain knew that Ferdinand had been dreading this moment ever since they arrived in Enbarr.

“Hubert?”

Ferdinand nods miserably.

“What did you do?”

Ferdinand collapses into a chair, seemingly unable to continue supporting himself. It hurts Sylvain to see Ferdinand like this, so utterly dejected. He leans against the corner of Ferdinand’s desk next to him, hovering, but unsure what to do.

“We needed his blood. Hubert is paranoid by nature. His rooms are heavily warded. He carries daggers on his person at all times. And he checks everything he ingests,” Ferdinand sighs. “Except with me.”

Sylvain’s brow furrows.

“Did you slip him something?”

“A mild sedative, nothing too serious. Just enough that I could take a vial of blood and heal the pinprick before he came to.”

Sylvain’s heart speeds up.

“You succeeded? We have Hubert’s blood?”

Pain flashes across Ferdinand’s face.

“Yes.”

Sylvain tries to control his excitement for his friend’s sake. The prospects for their hare-brained scheme had seemed so dismal that he was starting to lose hope. But now… now there is a chance. Ferdinand leans forward, bracing his elbows against his knees and propping his chin up with clasped hands. Sylvain watches him with unease.

“Do you regret it?” he asks quietly.

A flicker of uncertainty flashes across Ferdinand’s eyes. But he merely sighs heavily, resigned.

“No.”

Sylvain wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.

“Hubert has been happier than I’ve ever seen him since I came back. We had grown… close before I was taken prisoner. But it felt different this time.”

“You did come back from the dead,” Sylvain notes gently.

“Did you know he took care of Aria in my absence simply because he knew how much she meant to me?” Ferdinand asks disbelievingly.

It’s difficult for Sylvain to imagine Hubert, of all people, being so considerate. Having ridden his whole life, Sylvain knows how strong the bond between a rider and their steed is. And Ferdinand is more attached to his mount than most.

“I think, I think there might be a chance he feels something for me, Sylvain,” Ferdinand cries, tears welling in his eyes. “And now I have ruined that forever.”

Guilt makes Sylvain hesitate. He was the one to ask Ferdinand on this mission. He never intended to inflict this kind of torment on a friend. For a moment, Sylvain wonders if this is all worth it. His whole life he’s been running. Away from his family. Away from his responsibility. Away from the truth of what Felix is to him. Part of him wants to grab Felix and leave all of this behind.

Ferdinand sobs again and Sylvain snaps himself away from such thoughts. He can’t abandon his friends. He has people counting on him. This war has claimed too many lives already. This could be the way to end the slaughter.

“No, not forever, Ferdie,” Sylvain responds firmly.

He kneels in front of Ferdinand and takes his hands in his, forcing Ferdinand to look him in the eye. He wants, no he _needs_ Ferdinand to believe him.

“You can’t give up. We still have so far to go. You – “ Sylvain breaks off in exasperation. “You are the bravest man I know.”

Sylvain asked him to come with them and Ferdinand said yes. What could be braver than that?

“Everything you’ve done is for the Empire. I’ve known that for some time now. You didn’t come with us just because you didn’t want me to die, did you?” Sylvain asks.

Ferdinand casts his eyes downward, ashamed. He shakes his head.

“The Empire will destroy itself if it continues down this path. I wanted, I _want_ to save her.”

“I know,” Sylvain says softly. “I know how much you care. We will save her, I promise. I think Hubert will understand that, someday.”

Ferdinand gives him a weak smile, but it falters, turning despairing.

“I knew that it would be the last good moment between us. I tried to do something special, so that maybe he would not hate me for it. His favorite food is sautéed pheasant and eggs.” Ferdinand’s hands tremble in Sylvain’s. “I could see the moment of panic in Hubert’s eyes when he realized something was wrong. The way he looked at me… as though I could save him. He didn’t – he didn’t even realize it was me.”

Ferdinand pulls away, looking down to the side.

“What kind of man am I? That I would do that to the man that I – “ Ferdinand’s voice cracks, becoming a hoarse whisper, “…the man that I love…”

Sylvain’s heart breaks watching him. He gathers Ferdinand up in his arms and hugs him. Words seem so inadequate for the sacrifice that Ferdinand has made.

“You’re a good man, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand lets out a strangled laugh.

“You might be the only person to think so now.” Ferdinand stares off wistfully. “I caught Hubert before he hit his head. He looked so vulnerable.”

Sylvain thinks about Felix when he’s asleep beside him. How defenseless he is in those moments of unconsciousness.

“I may never have the chance to hold him again,” Ferdinand says softly.

Sylvain pulls Ferdinand to his feet. Ferdinand wipes his face with a kerchief and takes a deep breath.

“It is done now,” Ferdinand says with the tone of one still trying to convince himself. “There is no going back.”

Sylvain rubs Ferdinand’s arms consolingly and that seems to give the latter some strength. Ferdinand goes behind his desk and pulls out the top right drawer, emptying its contents onto the surface. Gesturing for Sylvain to watch, Ferdinand takes a thin pin and pops out the bottom of the drawer to reveal a secret compartment.

“Hubert installed this for me years ago. He’s the only one that knows about it.”

A small vial of viscous red fluid tumbles out into Ferdinand’s palm. He hands it to Sylvain.

“I imagine that it should be a safe enough place to hide this until the time comes for you to use it.”

Guards searched Felix and Sylvain’s belongings during the night raid. It’s likely they will do so again. Sylvain gives the vial back to Ferdinand and he locks it up again.

“We have to move quickly,” Sylvain muses. “Now that they know there’s a traitor in the palace it’s only a matter of time before they discover us.”

“You’ll need to speak with Linhardt,” Ferdinand responds. “He’s been conducting research on how to remove Crests. Dark magic has some kind of nullifying effect on faith-based magics. He can teach you.”

“He won’t find that suspicious?” Sylvain asks skeptically.

“Not if you tell him you want to remove your Crest.”

The very idea freezes something in Sylvain’s heart. His Crest has been nothing but a curse his whole life. To be rid of it… No. Not yet at least. He needs its power and the Lance of Ruin to fight their enemies. Until then, the Crest of Gautier is part of Sylvain.

“I can certainly make that story believable,” Sylvain laughs bitterly.

Despite his own sorrow, Ferdinand looks at Sylvain with sympathy, as though he knows exactly what train of thought Sylvain had just been entertaining.

“Where can I find him?” Sylvain asks.

Ferdinand winces.

“At the infirmary. He is in charge of watching over Hubert today to make sure there are no remaining symptoms.”

“Right. The infirmary. Well, I guess I should get started on that. Learning magic is no easy task.”

Sylvain gives Ferdinand one last glance over.

“Will you be alright?”

Ferdinand smiles faintly.

“As well as I can be.”

Sylvain nods. That will have to be enough.

Linhardt is in the middle of fighting with Hubert when Sylvain arrives at the infirmary. Caution tells him to wait outside in the hallway. He creeps up to the doorway and peeks in. The spymaster is scowling furiously while the sleepy Crest scholar looks like he’s reaching deep into his reserves to maintain the energy necessary to continue arguing.

“It is only for another four hours, Hubert. We don’t know exactly what you were given, and we can’t risk there being side effects. Honestly, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I would welcome the opportunity to spend four hours doing nothing.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Hubert snaps. “I’m more than familiar with sedatives and poisons. It’s already worked its way through my system. The longer we wait to investigate the more likely it is that our culprit will slip away.”

Linhardt throws his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“There are other people already doing that. You need to rest.”

“I don’t trust anyone else to do it properly.”

“Not even your own people?” Linhardt exhales tiredly. “What is this really about, Hubert?”

A charged moment of silence passes.

“I don’t think the drug was meant for me.”

“What makes you think that?” Linhardt asks, suddenly much more interested.

“It was in the tea. _Ferdinand’s_ store of tea. I almost never drink tea. How could the suspect possibly have known that Ferdinand would happen to serve me tea that night? It’s far more likely that Ferdinand was the original target. Possibly for kidnapping, if it was a sedative.”

“It certainly knocked you out long enough to kidnap you. Hmmm, I suppose that’s logical. Ferdinand’s return has raised morale in the Empire significantly. Ugh, now I have to worry about being kidnapped while I sleep. How bothersome.” Sylvain hears fingers drumming against a surface. “What are you going to do about it? We can hardly let the Prime Minister get snatched from under our noses.”

“I’ll inform Her Majesty and keep an eye on Ferdinand. He’s safer with me than your average bodyguard.”

Linhardt lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“Well, alright. I suppose if you’re certain there’s nothing left of the drug in your system, I can give you medical clearance to return to work. I would hate for anything to happen to Ferdinand too. Then I’d have twice as much work.”

“Thank you,” Hubert says relieved.

Sylvain waits a few more moments to make sure their conversation is over before entering the infirmary. Hubert scowls upon seeing him.

“What are you doing here, Gautier?”

“I came to see Linhardt.”

Hubert is a touch paler than normal but otherwise appears in good health.

“Are you alright? I heard about what happened,” Sylvain says.

Hubert folds his arms and shutters himself off. Sylvain worries that perhaps he’s being too brazen.

“It’s none of your concern. What business do you have with Linhardt?”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, acting embarrassed.

“It’s a little personal.”

“You haven’t earned privacy yet,” Hubert says coldly.

The reminder chills Sylvain slightly.

“I wanted to ask him about the possibility of removing my Crest.” Sylvain frowns. “Is that not allowed?”

Theoretically the Empire should support this endeavor, but Hubert might have other plans for Sylvain’s abilities. Hubert eyes him skeptically but relents.

“Fine. But don’t waste his time. I can barely get him to work as it is.”

Feeling like he narrowly dodged an arrow, Sylvain heads further into the infirmary. Linhardt is reading a book in his office, barely acknowledging him when Sylvain enters the room. Only when it’s clear Sylvain is here for him does Linhardt yawn.

“You’re here to disturb me as well, aren’t you?”

“Sorry,” Sylvain says sheepishly.

Linhardt hasn’t changed one bit since Sylvain saw him at the academy. Just as sleepy and lazy as ever. Not that it’s a bad thing. He kind of admires that Linhardt doesn’t care what other people think of him.

“Well, the sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I can help you and get back to my studies.”

“Do you have any research on how to remove a Crest? I heard you’ve been working on that."

“I have an idea,” Linhardt acknowledges through a long stretch. “But it’s not perfected yet.”

“Is the research difficult?”

Linhardt shuts his book, seemingly concluding that he won’t be able to give it his full attention for a while.

“Yes and no. It was challenging finding texts related to the topic, but I’ve accumulated quite a few by now. The issue is that dark magic is very unpleasant to deal with. I grow faint at the sight of blood and a majority of dark magic deals with the stuff. It’s also difficult to test my Crest removal theories without a volunteer.” Linhardt shrugs. “People aren’t exactly lining up.”

“Crest removal requires dark magic?” Sylvain asks, genuinely curious.

He would have thought faith magic more useful.

“It will be easier if I just show you.” Linhardt flips open the book he was reading to show Sylvain a magical formula. “See how Crests are just runes, like all magic spells? I bear the Crest of Cethleann. It shares components with the sigil for Heal. The Crest of Lamine is the same way.”

“So Crests are a form of spells?”

“Yes.”

“But we can’t always control when our Crests activate,” Sylvain frowns.

“My theory is that at some point in the past bloodlines had stronger links to their Crests. It’s likely the bearers could control them. But you only have a minor Crest of Gautier, correct?”

Sylvian nods.

“Then your link is relatively weak. Don’t mistake me, your Crest is still very powerful compared to the average person. But it probably doesn’t come close to the power the Gautier of the Ten Elites had.”

Now that’s a terrifying thought.

“But how does dark magic relate?” Sylvain asks.

“Crests are a naturally occurring form of blood magic. Crest blood is extremely powerful, which is why Crests can activate instinctively to protect and aid their bearer even without a conscious summoning. But all blood has power. Dark magic is the art of manipulating that power in all its forms.”

“So, if you could use dark magic to artificially separate out Crest power from a person’s blood, you could remove it?”

“Correct.”

“That’s incredible,” Sylvain breathes out in disbelief.

“Yes, it’s fascinating,” Linhardt agrees. “Unfortunately, I have no way to test it.”

“You could test it on me.”

Linhardt regards him curiously.

“Why would you want to remove your Crest?”

“It’s… complicated. Let’s just say it’s not a pretty story.”

A strange look crosses Linhardt’s face.

“Marianne used to say the same thing.”

Sylvain startles.

“Marianne? I thought she was in the Alliance.”

“She is. But we used to be friends. Marianne was convinced that her Crest brought bad luck on everyone. Silly really, Crests can’t do that. They have a tangible, measurable effect that we can document. Any misfortune resulting from a Crest has to do with other people being terrible. That’s all. It’s not your fault.”

Linhardt says it so casually.

_The sky is blue, fire is hot, it’s not your fault._

“Regardless,” Linhardt continues, “My theory needs far more fine-tuning before I’m prepared to subject a human to it.”

“Could I help you with your research then?”

Linhardt laughs.

“You’re persistent. But I’m far too busy to be a mentor at the moment.”

“Well…” Sylvain muses, “Can I look at your research then? Or do you have any texts that I could find helpful?”

Linhardt points in the general direction of his office’s bookshelves.

“Last two rows deal mainly with blood magic. That’s what you’ll want to look into to remove a Crest. Now, can I _please_ get back to my studies?”

“Thanks, Lin!” Sylvain says cheerily.

Linhardt gives him a half-hearted wave, already turning his attention back to his book.

“Don’t try any self-experimentation, Sylvain,” he calls after him.

Sylvain starts with _Crest Inheritance, Powers & Histories, _which has a chapter dedicated to dark magic. He quickly realizes that dark magic and black magic are fundamentally different. Whereas black magic channels the energy and chaos of the world around you, dark magic draws directly from your lifeforce. A tell-tale sign of a dark mage is the slight blackening of their fingertips.

_Right. No problem. Just need to channel my lifeforce._

But Sylvain is only interested in recreating one sigil, not mastering dark magic as a whole. He finds another volume, an encyclopedia of dark magic runes. It’s somewhat difficult to organize pictographs. Sylvain flips to the back to the section of sigils with six strokes. It takes some time, but he is finally able to locate the swirling purple star sigil that Felix described. According to the tome, each person’s blood resonates at a slightly different magical frequency. The star rune is a binding rune. Not only does the lock only open for the people whose blood is used for the binding process, the lock is tied to the mage’s life. It will remain until the mage releases it or dies.

Sylvain glances back towards Linhardt. The mage has fallen asleep at his desk, head pressed into an open tome. Soft snoring emanates from him. Quietly, Sylvain finds a ruler and tears out the pages on the star sigil. He sticks them in his shirt before replacing all the books back on the shelf. Time to test out his skills.

When Sylvain is finally in the privacy of his room, he closes his eyes and tries to tap into the flow of power humming through his body. Miasma is the simplest dark magic spell to start with. Rather than drawing warmth from the air around him to fuel a fireball, Sylvain lets energy bleed out of him like a wound until it ignites into purple flames. It’s far more volatile than he’s expecting and he extinguishes it quickly, before it backlashes. The sensation is nauseating. Why would anyone do this voluntarily? Looking at his hand, Sylvain can see a slight black tint that fades after a moment. He hopes that what little he has to learn won’t leave permanent damage.

Sylvain spends the rest of the day trying and failing to summon a successful Miasma spell. He finally concedes defeat when he finds himself so cold that he’s shivering. Channeling the energy isn’t the hard part. The hard part is controlling the spell’s intensity. Instead of releasing a drip of lifeforce to fuel the spell, Sylvain can only seem to open the floodgates, causing the spell to burn through a frightening amount of energy in a short timeframe.

This is the state that Felix finds him in when he returns, clammy and drained.

“Sylvain!” Felix exclaims, pressing a hand to Sylvain’s forehead. “What have you been doing? Goddess, you’re icy.”

Sylvain’s teeth chatter.

“Heh, I o-overdid it. T-turns out… dark magic is really difficult.”

Felix glares at him while he drapes a blanket over Sylvain.

“You fool, I could have told you that.”

Sylvain gratefully pulls the blanket around him tighter. Felix strides into the bathroom and begins running a hot bath. Meanwhile, Sylvain attempts to get up from the table and immediately collapses to the ground.

“Ow,” Sylvain whines.

Felix clicks his tongue worriedly and hauls him off the floor. Holding him still, Felix checks his eyes. He snaps his fingers to the left and right and Sylvain tiredly tries to follow the movement, but he’s having a hard time focusing his vision. Felix frowns.

“Your eyes are dilated, and you can barely stand. Sylvain, what were you thinking, giving yourself magical burnout?”

“We don’t have time to waste anymore,” Sylvain slurs. “Ferdinand drugged Hubert and took a vial of his blood. That’s why they were investigating us.”

Felix grips his shoulders tighter.

“Shit. How much longer do we have?”

“I have no idea.”

Felix lets out an irritated hiss.

“The castle guard has doubled. It’s going to be hell trying to break Rhea out now.”

Sylvain sways again and Felix grunts under his weight.

“Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

Sylvain manages to stagger to the bathroom with Felix’s help but is confronted with a new problem once he gets there. Given his current condition, there is a non-zero chance that Sylvain could pass out and drown in the bathtub.

“Um… Fe?”

“What?” Felix snaps.

Goddess save him. Sylvain’s face is burning.

“Could you uh… stay with me? So I don’t drown, that is.”

Felix’s eyes widen just a fraction.

“You can stand facing away!” Sylvain hurriedly reassures him. “Just, don’t leave. Please.”

Felix rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, unable to meet his gaze.

“Fine. But this better not be one of your pranks.”

“I w-wouldn’t joke about this, Fe. I swear,” Sylvain says shivering.

Felix softens, but there’s a brief flash of pain in his eyes. The last time they found themselves in this position, Sylvain was close to dying of hypothermia. Sylvain steadies himself against the counter and fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. It’s clumsy work and he curses under his breath when the button slips from his fingers for the third time. Sylvain goes to try again when Felix stops his hands and lightly bats them away. Sylvain’s hands fall slack to his side while he watches Felix turn the intensity of his concentration to the task of gently undressing him. Felix takes his time with each button, revealing each inch of his skin slowly, treating him so carefully Sylvain wonders if Felix thinks he’ll break. In his addled state, there is little more Sylvain can do than wonder at the tenderness of it all, at the faint flush across Felix’s cheeks.

Felix finishes the buttons and pulls out the remaining tucked fabric. He lifts Sylvain’s arms up so he can slide the garment off his shoulders. Sylvain holds his breath, barely able to process the way Felix’s fingertips skim across his skin. Felix steps behind him to gather up the shirt before retreating to the corner with his back to Sylvain.

“Can you manage the rest by yourself?” Felix asks in a low tone.

It takes a moment for Sylvain to find his voice.

“I can manage.”

Getting into the warm water is instant relief, Sylvain’s chill evaporating with the rising steam. His senses slowly begin to return to him, and in addition, chagrin at the state in which Felix found him. Sylvain hadn’t meant to worry him like that. But, if he’s honest with himself, that’s how they’ve always been, ever since they were kids. Sylvain getting into trouble, Felix dragging him out again. He still remembers the shock he felt the first time Felix cast Heal on him. Sylvain had been stabbed and he was losing too much blood to get to the nearest medic. There was this glint in Felix’s eye as he pulled off a glove and pressed it against the wound, like he had already decided Sylvain wouldn’t die and there was no arguing with him. The swordsman worked fervently, brow furrowed as he poured white magic into the wound. A white glow surrounded Felix’s hands and Sylvain wondered if he was really an angel. He still wonders that sometimes. Sylvain smiles at the memory. Felix is always there when he needs him.

The only sound in the room is the quiet sloshing of water as Sylvain washes his hair. It’s getting long again. Perhaps he should grow it out like Felix. The swordsman is still in the corner, unmoving. Sylvain considers for a moment the wisdom of calling out to Felix then, but restrains himself.

_Do it right._

Gradually, the water becomes tepid and Sylvain is forced to end the quiet scene. Felix gives him privacy to dress. Sylvain hesitates at the bathroom door, trying to steel himself before finally reentering the bedroom. Felix is sitting on the bed, braiding his hair to the side to sleep. Sylvain moves to join him, heart thrumming like a hummingbird. He knows what he wants to say. But the words still feel impossible on his tongue. They feel too loud, too large and too much to the point where Sylvain begins to wonder if he can even force himself to enunciate them. Felix is staring at him with searching, vermillion eyes, waiting for him to speak. They are close enough that Sylvain can count every dark eyelash on his face. There’s uncertainty there, and Sylvain is unsure if he’s only imagining it. It grows steadily stronger the longer Sylvain goes on without saying anything. It’s only when Felix finally breaks eye contact that Sylvain remembers how to speak.

“Felix?”

Those piercing eyes flick back up and Sylvain’s heart almost stops from how beautiful Felix is in that moment. Felix’s lips part in a question and finally something snaps within Sylvain.

It’s brief. Only for a few moments. Sylvain’s entire world narrows in on the soft press of Felix’s lips against his, warm and inviting. Felix jerks back for a second in surprise, but then his breath rushes out of him in a sharp gasp and he leans forward into the kiss, cupping Sylvain’s face with his hands.

It’s so different from their first kiss, which was desperate and confusing. This kiss is cautious, but sure in its intent. And Sylvain knows, with every fiber of his being that this is _right_. His fingers tangle in Felix’s hair and all Sylvain wants to do is drink Felix in. He wants to know what Felix tastes like, what he’ll sound like under his hands. He wants to know exactly what he can do to Felix and what Felix can do to him in return. Sylvain wants to know everything there is to know about Felix.

The bedroom door bursts open with a loud crash and soldiers stream in for the second time. Suddenly, Sylvain finds his hands wrenched behind him while Felix is yanked back.

“Sylvain!” Felix cries.

Felix fights his attackers, twisting his arms to try and break the soldier’s grasp to no avail. Sylvain throws his head backward, aiming for the guard’s nose and is rewarded with a sickening crunch. The man yells and lets go, clutching his face now streaming with blood. But he’s immediately replaced by another guard and a second soldier kicks Sylvain in the stomach. He drops to the floor with a gasp of pain and is pinned down. Sylvain looks to his right and sees that Felix has been restrained as well, hair pulled back to expose his throat.

“Well, well. Such a pity.”

Sylvain can barely see anything above carpet level but he would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hubert,” he grunts.

He watches as Hubert’s boots walk by him to the table on the other side of the room. There’s the sound of rustling paper.

“Your skills are impressive. Teaching yourself dark magic? And you,” Hubert says turning to Felix, “bravo for tailing me successfully for so long. The two of you would have been valuable members of the Empire. If you weren’t traitorous rats, that is.”

A white gloved hand enters Sylvain’s view as Hubert leans down and tips his face one way and then another.

“Don’t worry,” Hubert whispers, so low that only Sylvain can hear him, “the two of you will make magnificent Demonic Beasts.”

Then he stands with a chilling laugh that freezes Sylvain over. Hubert flicks his wrist.

“Take them away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cries* It finally HAPPENED. Oh my god I have been waiting for this moment for so long. Felix and Sylvain finally acknowledge their feelings!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, I'm so excited to hear from you!


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